


I Will Never Rust

by stylez



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blood Drinking, Blow Jobs, Bottom Louis, Drinking, M/M, Oral Sex, Rimming, THE LIRRY IS PAST LIRRY, Vampire Harry, and he's in a frat, and louis plays football, and sometimes harry's a little rude, harry also writes poems, harry's a vampire, there's a lot of bad jokes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-22
Updated: 2016-02-22
Packaged: 2018-05-22 12:52:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 38,062
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6080136
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stylez/pseuds/stylez
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What was Harry meant to say? <i> Yes Louis, I’d date you. I want to make you come repeatedly so that must mean I have a thing for you yeah?</i> No. Because it doesn’t mean that, because Harry refuses to get attached to anyone he wants to fuck. </p><p>or</p><p>Harry wants to suck more than just Louis’ blood but Louis refuses to sleep with Count Dickula.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. I

**Author's Note:**

  * For [skatetough](https://archiveofourown.org/users/skatetough/gifts).



> I wrote this for my best friend/my Louis, [ Julie](http://louistomlinsons.tumblr.com) for her 19th birthday! ♡  
> Her prompt was “vampire frat harry” so that’s what you’re gonna get!  
> Happy birthday bab I hope you like this as I worked really hard trying to make it perfect for you!  
> Loaf u!! 
> 
> Side Ziall and Lirry are here because Julie is thirsty for them both as well and what kind of a friend would I be if I didn’t deliver? 
> 
> Thank you to [Ash](http://yvsesaintlaurent.tumblr.com) for last minute beta-ing and fixing any typos. You are a queen! ♡
> 
> ♡♡♡♡♡♡
> 
> Texts are written in **bold** and **_bold italics_**  
>  Flashbacks and thoughts are written in _italics_ , along with any words that need to be emphasized, but you probably already knew that you genius you ;)  
> Similarities between these vampires and True Blood vampires in that: they need to sleep, and they drink synthetic blood  
> Outfits are linked so you can see exactly what I’m talking about for reference (or if you just wanna see the boys because honestly I don’t blame you) 
> 
> Trigger Warning For;  
> Mentions of depression  
> Alcohol use/sort of abuse ‘cos they get drunk a lot.  
> Minor existential crisis?  
> Mentions of cancer  
> Blood  
> Drug Mention (they smoke weed like once)  
> Use of homophobic slurs
> 
> Title is a lyric from an Arctic Monkeys song - I Wanna Be Yours
> 
> LET ME KNOW IN THE COMMENTS IF I SHOULD WRITE ANYTHING ELSE AS A TRIGGER WARNING AS THESE ARE THE ONLY THINGS I COULD THINK OF.

**August**

 

Harry’s snapback falls off the second he’s upside down. Keg stands are customary for Gamma Psi and Harry’s done about three since he’s arrived at the pledge mixer two hours ago. Liam Payne’s hands are carefully holding up his left ankle and he’s mumbling, making sure Harry is okay, isn’t drowning in beer, and not getting so intoxicated he’ll die. Niall Horan on the other hand is chanting “ _CHUG CHUG CHUG”_ whilst pumping the fist that isn’t holding Harry’s right ankle, straight into the air. Gamma Psi brothers are all chanting, hopeful pledges are shying away from the challenge, and Harry. Well Harry is trying with all of his might to keep it together for the next five seconds before his keg stand is complete.

 

Then he’s free.

 

He tumbles down legs first and _Jesus,_ being upside down really amplifies the high levels of intoxication the beer causes Harry. He’s dizzy, hands a bumbling mess in front of him as he grabs his snapback from the ground. Liam claps him on the shoulder, causing Harry to jump up a bit at the contact before giving him a delayed toothy grin.

 

“Let’s give it up for Harry Styles everyone!” Liam cheers, fangs glinting from the corner of his mouth.

 

The frat house explodes with sound, and Harry is sure he can see the colours of everyone cheering. He thinks he can see sound. It’s pretty astounding really, or maybe he’s just far too inebriated. But it’s a rainbow, yellow pouring out of Niall’s mouth, lighting up behind his perfect teeth and pointy fangs. Red pulsing in time with the beat of the music. Purple coming out in beautiful smoky tendrils as Liam exhales breathily.

 

Harry’s definitely far too drunk.

 

“Cheers!” Harry shouts back at the crowd of brothers, all trying to coerce the hopeful freshmen into doing a keg stand, all of whom are cowering at the challenge. Harry’s two minute keg stand is a record breaker, and if it weren’t for all the times he’s had to go down on someone who’s bollocks smelled like… well… bollocks, he wouldn’t have been able to hold his breath for so long and just take it.

 

The party surges on and Harry tries not to drink more. He recalls the lectures in secondary school health class all too well, how binge drinking kills by poisoning your body. Harry loves a drink or seven but he definitely cherishes his heartbeat more. Which makes his choice of fraternity quite strange, considering the fang-baring house is planning on taking that away from him if he gets chosen.

 

* * * * *

 

The next week Harry is officially accepted into Gamma Psi.

 

Initiation should be simple. He’s supposed to go down to the frat house and just fill out a few forms, get bitten, turn into a vampire, and then he gets to live with the lads. It’s quite simple really except for the fact Harry is basically signing a waiver to his death.

 

Vampires aren’t exactly a strange thing anymore. They used to be rare, back in his Nan’s time, and even in the first ten or so years of his Mum’s life. Now vampires are just as common as humans, and the numbers are getting larger as people cower in the concept of growing old and dying. Immortality is too good to give up in some people’s eyes, and the birth rate is dwindling down as the undead are unable to conceive.

 

 _That’s so sad_ , Harry thinks as he makes his way down the path across campus to the Gamma house. _I’ve always wanted a baby. Who knows, maybe in a few years they’ll have technology to be able to completely artificially fertilise a child for someone who can’t._ Harry thinks before realising, that’s exactly what artificial insemination is. He chuckles to himself and twists his snapback around, the brim shading the back of his flaming neck. The sun is surprisingly bright for England and Harry idly wonders if he’ll be able to go outside without burning before remembering that all those vampire myths he’s read in old stories were just that. Myths.

 

The Gamma Psi house is huge, towering over Harry in a daunting way.

 

 _This is it_ , he thinks, _you’re going to be nineteen forever._ Somehow the thought doesn’t scare him as much as he thought it would. His heart's pounding in his chest regardless and he gets a pang of melancholy as he realises this will be the last time he feels it banging against his ribcage almost painfully. He walks up the steps to the looming house, the gothic architecture looks strange now that Harry has seen the modern interior of the unit. He knocks on the door twice, hands shaking weakly at his sides and luckily Liam answers the door almost immediately.

 

Relief washes over Harry instantly and he gets the familiar sense of calm the second he’s in Liam’s presence. The two met in Harry’s freshman year right before Liam got initiated. It was on the green outside of Harry’s dorm and Liam was proper having a panic attack.

 

* * * * *

 

_“What’s wrong mate, you okay? Do you need me to get help?” Harry’s voice was soft yet rushed as the mysterious boy trembled violently in the grass, tears streaming down his face. A pained whimper escaped the boy’s full lips before he replied._

 

_“They’re gonna turn me today.” Was all the boy said and Harry knew. He gathered the stranger into his arms, encompassing his muscular body with his much lankier one. Harry wasn’t good at many things; football, maths, and not crying during Bake Off were just a few, but if he was good at anything, it was hugs. Harry knew how to calm someone down in just seconds._

 

_Within a minute, Liam had stopped shaking in Harry’s arms and his breathing had returned to normal. The two talked for an hour before Harry walked Liam over to the Gamma Psi house, the house seemed even larger back then, without Liam’s personality filling it. Harry said he’d wait outside for Liam to finish up. It took ten minutes, Liam was outside with paling skin, and dry blood crusting on his neck in no time._

 

_He was moved into the house the next day. With Harry’s help the two moved all of Liam’s belongings into the fraternity and Liam surely took the roll of “house daddy,” always making sure everyone was safe and protected. Harry hung around the house so often that it only seemed natural for Liam to offer up the idea of brotherhood to Harry for his sophomore year of uni._

 

* * * * *

 

“Do you remember like, a year ago when I was sat outside your dorm like… proper shaking about turning mate?” Liam chuckles lightly, a large hand settling down on Harry’s bouncing knee. Liam’s eyes are full of soft light, the brown of them is chocolatey smooth and warm. Harry’s leg slows slightly and Liam’s eyes crinkle a bit as he smiles.

 

The sleek black leather of the couch they’re sat in squeaks as Harry crosses one elegant leg over the other, his knee more visible through the torn denim in this position. The house is quiet except for the sound of Harry’s brain screaming and the clock ticking idly on the wall.

 

 _Why do vampires need clocks? Not like time matters for them anyway._ Harry remembers then that vampires still have jobs, and classes to get to, both of which Harry is going to miss if he lingers for even a minute too long.

 

Harry’s gnawing at his lip and he nods quickly before breaking out into a grin.

 

“Sat outside? You were more like, collapsed outside.” Harry laughs but the sound is tremulous. He sighs deeply and looks down at his hands, they’re shaking a tad and Liam cups his hands around them. Harry looks up then to his friend whose lips are pursed and snapback is tilting to the right and Harry could just cry right now. “Did it hurt?” He asks softly as Liam leans into him. The open window causes the paperwork on the table to flutter in the slight breeze, but everything else is still.

 

“Just a bit. Then it feels good.” Liam’s breath is cool against his neck and his lips are gentle. Harry shudders as Liam runs his thumb over the sensitive skin of his neck. The tawny skin is prickled with goosebumps and Liam’s tongue laps it once, Harry releases a soft mewling sound. His neck is sensitive and Liam should just get the job done already but Harry hasn’t been laid in ages and Liam is well fit. “You ready?”

 

Harry almost misses Liam speak as his eyes bore a hole to where he knows Liam’s cock is situated in his trackies. _Did he wear those on purpose because they’re easy to take off?_ Harry’s tongue slithers out to wet his cherry red lips before he nods once, hard. “Yeah.” He croaks out, fluttering his eyelids shut.

 

Liam’s teeth are cold.

 

It makes no sense how they are, they’re inside a mouth for Chrissakes but here Harry is, getting bitten and the only sensation he can feel is cold. Cold as the life leaves his body and Liam’s lips press against his neck and Harry is wondering if Liam’s kissing him or doing his job. Then the venom kicks in, surging through his veins, numbing his body and making him grow even more limp in Liam’s arms.

 

“See you soon.” Liam whispers as Harry’s body grows weaker and the light leaves behind his eyelids. A small part of Harry hopes he never gets up. The last thing he feels before he dies are Liam’s hands caressing his hair gently, his lips peppering kisses to Harry’s bite.

 

He wakes up with just enough time to get to class.

* * * * *

 

**January 26th**

 

In a week it would’ve been Harry’s twentieth birthday. Instead it’s his second nineteenth birthday and he isn’t really much for celebrating this year. Liam insists he’s turning twenty although Harry could tell him (and does tell him) otherwise.

 

“Well we’re having a party next week and if you don’t want to call it your birthday you don’t have to, but we will and that’s final.” Liam announces to Harry who’s wrapped up in a towel trying to untangle his necklace. He gives up and settles the chain on his desk with a grunt.

 

“Twat!” Harry calls out with a chuckle as Liam storms off decidedly faster than a human. Harry sighs as he unties the towel from around his waist, clucking his tongue disappointedly as he looks down at the mess he’s made.

 

The one thing about being a vampire that everyone always gets wrong is that your body still _works_. When Harry was younger he thought that once you turned, that was it. If you hated your haircut you were stuck with it forever. If you accidentally shaved off your eyebrow, well you just wouldn’t have eyebrows anymore.

 

If that were the case then Harry would be stuck with his horribly shaven pubes. He doesn’t know exactly why he thought shaving whilst half asleep would be a good idea.

 

Another myth Harry believed in when he was younger was that vampires didn’t need to sleep. He actually believed that up until he turned and then realised, his body still got tired. Although he only has to sleep about ten hours a week it was still a disappointment when he found out that if he doesn’t sleep, he could actually die.

 

* * * * *

 

_“What do you mean die? I’m already dead!” Harry whined as his vision got dizzy. Liam was spinning now, or maybe he was actually spinning on purpose to prove a point and Harry wasn’t just seeing things._

 

_“Like proper die. It’s an energy thing mate. Think about it, we drink blood and have way more strength and power than humans. That needs some time to recharge,” Liam laid back on the couch, the lack of motion easing Harry’s bleary brain just a bit. “If you don’t drink blood, you die. If you don’t sleep at least a couple of hours a week, you die. It’s pretty simple Harry. Nothing else can kill us. Just sleep a little, drink some blood. You’ll live… forever actually.” Liam finished with a laugh, tossing a tennis ball into the air and catching it in his palm._

 

_When did they get a tennis ball?_

 

* * * * *

 

Harry figures a few hours of sleep a week are actually quite a good trade off for immortality. Besides, it’s not like sleeping is wasting any of his time… he’s got plenty to give. ‘Till the end of time itself he supposes.

 

Sleep always leaves Harry extra groggy though, and his attempt to simply trim the hairs at his pubic region backfires and now he’s left staring at his bare genitals in his body length mirror. How on earth Harry is expected to wait two weeks for his pubes to grow back out to a suitable length?

“Thank God I’m not getting fucked,” He sighs and runs a hand through his hair “the last time I was this hairless was before I hit puberty.” He feels too lazy to put his golden brown locks in a quiff so he just slides on a beanie. Harry shucks the towel onto the bed where it lands on a small stack of moleskine notebooks titled artistic things like “writing,” and “poems.” Harry throws on his [ knit black jumper ](http://i.dailymail.co.uk/i/pix/2013/10/08/article-2449555-1839833400000578-332_470x538.jpg) over his lean torso, cloaking his tattoos in the process, and searches idly for a pair of pants before there’s a knock at his door. “I’m indecent.” Harry calls out with a faint chuckle and slides the black Calvin Klein boxer-briefs over his long legs. “Come in.” He sighs finally, twisting his rings around his fingers.

 

Over the last few months Harry has grown increasingly tolerant to people barging in on him at the worst of times. Luckily for most of them he’s been clothed when they decide to visit but there were a select few times Liam may have come in as he was getting himself off. At the time Harry may or may not have been jerking it to Liam, but as time progressed (and Harry saw Liam’s muscles on a daily basis and also maybe drunkenly made out with him a few dozen times), Harry’s infatuation with the boy wore off as they got used to being around one another all the time.

 

Regardless, Harry is grateful for people knocking whenever they do. Although, it’s usually just Ed letting him know that they’re running out of synthetic blood (Synth) and he _knows_ Harry’s the last one who took a bottle from their cellar and would he _please_ pick up some more?

 

The person who comes in isn’t Ed though, it’s actually Niall. Harry and Niall get along quite well but he’s also known for barging into Harry’s room as opposed to knocking. Typically this happens when he’s drunk and looking for a singing partner or a cuddle.

 

“Oi, footie game’s in an hour. Wanna go?” Niall’s Irish accent is thick and Harry watches as the blond runs a hand through his perfectly styled quiff. Figures Niall probably took his day off yesterday to get his sleep for the week because the lad is wide awake and ready at ten in the morning.

 

“Sure.” Harry replies with a cheeky grin. He’s never been much for football, at least not playing it. He hadn’t been much for watching either until he realised that fit, fit boys play footie and Harry likes to fuck fit, fit boys. Especially when they’re sweaty and have great bums. Unfortunately for him he’s not going to be fucking anyone until his pubes grow back.

 

“Sick! It’s about time you go out instead of sitting inside all day.” Niall mumbles the last part and lets himself out. Harry waits a beat before collapsing onto his bed with a groan inevitably crinkling the pages of writing he’s done, and covers his face with his tattooed hands.

 

It’s un-fucking-fair and also _of course_ this calamity has to happen to him right before the last game of the season. The football team's end of the season party is tonight and Harry was hoping to get laid at least once before classes start again tomorrow, just so it’s not another weekend wasted. Harry glares down at the front of his pants at the lack of pubes peeking out through the top.

 

“I hate you.”

 

* * * * *

 

If Pendleton University isn’t good for anything besides its football team then it’s better than most schools Harry’s seen. The team is _amazing_ , one of the most renowned uni teams in the country and Harry is absolutely buzzing as they score goal after goal against Hammerstein. He’s probably buzzing though because he mixed some whiskey in with his Synth and now the alcohol is coursing through his veins. Or maybe the buzz is actually a shiver, because Harry is stupid and he only has on his practically fucking see-through jumper and a white vest underneath. His knees are poking out through his ripped jeans and Harry remembers that although vampires can feel cold if it’s cold enough, it’s probably not cold enough and he’s just getting too tipsy at a school event.

 

Harry stands with the crowd, body swaying slightly as they all count down the last ten seconds on the clock. It’s over, obviously; Pendleton are five points ahead and if that cute guy makes another goal in the next four seconds then–– _holy shit he actually did it_.

 

Thirty points. Pendleton win with thirty points. It’s legendary for a uni team, let alone a regular footie team, Harry smiles as the players run towards the stands cheering and gesturing for everyone to scream louder, louder. Harry laughs with Niall and they’re bumping elbows into each others ribs as the team breaks into dance to Beyoncé playing over the fields speakers.

 

“That was amazing, best game of the whole season!” Niall cheers, fangs bare and glinting in the sunlight. The two hop down from the stands and start walking across the field when Harry spots a gaggle of girls congratulating (and fawning) over the boy who made the final goal.

 

The first thing Harry notices are his eyes, well that’s the first thing he notices _now_ , although when the boy was playing all Harry noticed was his bum. They’re blue. The kind of blue Harry can write bad poems about that everyone loves so much, and they’re twinkling, fucking _twinkling._ God Harry wants to wreck him. His laugh rings out across the field and Harry makes it his goal to find out who the boy wearing the white headband is, and exactly how his fringe falls into his face when he takes the headband off, and how the fringe sticks against his forehead when he’s sweaty and getting fucked.

 

Harry suddenly likes football a lot more.

 

* * * * *

 

The party is at Kappa Delta Eta (regardless of most of the team not being in the frat), and Blue Eyes White Headband as Harry so eloquently calls him in his weird brain, is nowhere to be seen. It’s not like Harry’s looking, or has looked everywhere, because he’s been sitting on the overstuffed white couch for an hour just thinking why on earth anyone would buy a white couch. Red wine stains litter the surface and Harry would think it’s blood except Kappa isn’t a vampire frat and Harry also doubts any of them are mature enough to sleep with a girl on her period.

 

Harry’s three shots into the party when he hears the cheering from his place in the kitchen. He turns and time seems to slow. Maybe he’s tipsy, or maybe Blue Eyes White Headband just has that power, like a superpower. Genuinely. Maybe he can slow down time. Hell Harry might be drunker than he thought. Harry notices that the headband is gone, which he notices because  the two house leaders decide to lift the boy onto their shoulders.

 

 _So he’s just Blue Eyes now,_ Harry muses as he takes a slow sip of his vodka and soda mix. The lads lead Blue Eyes towards Harry and suddenly his insides go aflutter. _What the fuck?_ Harry pushes a fist against his gut, promptly killing the butterflies that were starting to take up residence there as if they pay fucking rent.

 

“LOUIS ‘ERE’S GONNA DO A KEGGER!” The obnoxious, glaringly white, beefcake shouts in his thick Northern accent. He has a shaved head and a Chinese symbol tattooed on his fleshy bicep and Harry decides he hates him.

 

“Oi, Timbo you wanker put me down!” The boy–– Louis, cries out. His voice is thin, raspy and high and Harry imagines how it’ll sound crying out his name. God he knows it’d break into wispy breaths with every thrust Harry would pound into him. His cock twitches at the thought and he clears his throat, taking a sip from his drink without tasting it.

 

“Not a chance Tommo!” The other one laughs, a muscular dark skinned boy who Harry hates less considering they shared a class together last semester. Although Harry doesn’t know the guy’s name, he still let Harry copy his Geography notes and sometimes from his tests. Harry feels a twinge of anger surge through him though as the lad swiftly drapes Louis over his shoulder. Maybe he does hate him just as much as the one with the bad tattoo that probably says the word “knobhead” or its equivalent in Chinese.

 

The lads are still making a beeline towards him and he awkwardly sidesteps out of their way. Louis has given up fighting and is just pouting as he dangles from the guy’s shoulder. When they pass by Harry decides to sneak a peek at Louis.

 

He tries to look over casually but finds himself engaging in full fledged eye contact with the boy. If Harry’s heart could still beat, it’d be pounding in his chest right now. Louis smiles at him in a way that says “ _what can you do?_ ” and as warmth surges through him, Harry just wants to shout back, “ _kick him in the bollocks and let me eat you out._ ” Instead he smiles back, fangs bared unintentionally and Louis winces, looking away.

 

_Ouch._

 

The thing is, no one ever discriminates against Harry for being a vampire. He’s been called slurs in the past for being gay ( _poof, twinkle, faggot, queer_ ), and even some for being bright ( _nerd, pussy, square_ ), but never for being a vampire. A good portion of Pendleton University are vampires and basically everyone Harry knows is accepting and welcoming of it. Except now.

 

Does he want to fuck someone who can’t accept him?

 

He looks up again just as they’re placing Louis down and he watches as the boy sorts out his hair. When Louis lifts his [ Adidas t-shirt ](http://41.media.tumblr.com/756de048e9ee7a778ce4dba16e7d72f0/tumblr_nysqapLcIC1ujnzlwo2_500.png) to wipe his forehead and Harry sees that bum, the answer is yes, he’d definitely fuck someone who doesn’t like vampires.

 

The party drags on.

 

Harry’s getting drunker and Niall is trying to flirt with some boy who is very obviously straight and uncomfortable and Harry can’t stop looking over in Louis’ direction. His drunken eyes always seem to glaze back over to where Louis is standing. His white t-shirt bunching where it doesn’t fall over his arse, and his hip popping as he rests all his weight on one leg whilst talking to a boy Harry recognises from a class. _Arwin? Armin? Dave?_ It’s not important anyway. What’s important is that Louis is nursing a single beer all night and it’s not nearly empty enough yet for Harry to slide in and offer him another drink. So he has to wait.

 

Waiting isn’t working though as Louis just settles down the drink and makes his way over to a boy Harry _definitely_ knows from his art history class. Zayn Malik. If Harry wasn’t confident (cocky) enough, he’d definitely be jealous of Zayn. He’s gorgeous with his darker complexion and lifelike brown eyes, so warm and deep they remind Harry of what it’s like to be in a hot tub, or balls deep in some bloke. Same thing. Harry runs his tongue over his fangs as he watches Louis saunter over to Zayn and whisper, cupping his hand over where his lips and Zayn’s ear meet. Zayn nods once and then looks over at Harry.

 

Again, if he wasn’t already dead, his heart would stop.

 

Harry watches as Zayn pulls away from Louis and begins walking over to the plush white couch, which honestly is _such_ a stupid colour for a couch. Harry looks away nonchalantly and takes a big gulp of his drink, finishing it in one go and crushing the cup in his trembling hand.

 

“Hey.” Zayn mumbles as he stops in front of Harry. He’s even more beautiful up close and Harry’s angry he can’t find a single flaw in his face. Harry hisses as he intakes air shakily, raking a hand through his hair and failing to realise he has a beanie on, which slides off his head and plops behind him on the couch.

 

“Hi.” Harry says in a blunt emotionless tone, it’s the best he can do when his lifeless heart is about to start beating again, simply to leap out of his chest and make a fool out of him now. He reaches blindly for his beanie, maintaining eye contact with Zayn as he does so. His fingers feel the soft knitted fabric behind him and he pulls it onto his lap, fingers toying with the blue material absentmindedly in his lap.

 

“My mate says you’ve been ogling him all night and if you want to go up to him you just should.” Zayn sighs, carding his ring covered hand through his perfect quiff, somehow not ruining it as he drags his hand back down to his side.

 

_What?_

 

Zayn’s fingers limply tap at his pocket and Harry glances down to see the packet of cigarettes peeking out of the black denim. Harry’s eyes trail back up to Zayn and he’s still trying to register what’s happening.

 

“Funny that he says I should just go over to him, yet he sends you to come tell me instead of just doing it himself.” Harry chuckles cooly although his mind is racing. _Why didn’t he just come over to me himself?_ He wants to ask, but it looks likely that Zayn doesn’t know and probably doesn’t care. He wants to make a comment about how if Louis doesn’t have the balls to come over himself he shouldn’t comment on Harry not having the balls to go over. He chooses against it as Zayn just shrugs and pulls out the dented cardboard packet of cigarettes and dangles one loosely between his lips.

 

“Lou’s weird like that, then again you’re the one sitting alone at a party. Just go for it vampire-boy.” Zayn sighs and walks away. Harry likes Zayn. He may be the first person Harry meets at this party that he likes. It’s a shame though as he was hoping to reserve that position for Louis.

 

The music at the party is dumb. It’s loud and dumb and stupid. Dumb and stupid are sort of the same thing but Harry doesn’t care because all he can think is that this music is _dumbstupid_ and everyone who’s dancing is getting in the way of him trying to get to Louis. If one more person bumps into him he decides he’s going to stop and kill them right there, drain them and then not have to eat again for a whole week. It’d be quite pleasant actually and Harry can’t admit to the slight disappointment he feels when the rest of the bodies make room for him as he crosses the lounge.

 

Louis’ chatting up a player on the footie team who is apparently so proud of their win that he has decided to not change out of uniform. Harry clears his throat as he approaches and Louis looks over, redness spreading across his cheeks. Harry wonders if he ever looked as pretty blushing as Louis does right now. Sometimes Harry misses properly flowing blood, the only place vampire blood ever likes to go is to his cock. He’s not complaining though, at least vampires can still get laid.

 

Harry is walking closer now, closer, closer. Until he can hear Louis and the footie player talking. Closer still.

 

“I’ll talk to you later Colin, yeah?” Louis turns and speaks quietly towards his teammate who raises his bottle in acceptance before walking off to peruse the collection of vinyls stacked on the shelf on the wall behind them.

 

When Louis turns back around he bumps into Harry who’s stood idiotically close now. The clear liquid in his cup sloshes forward and lands on Harry’s leather boots. He’d be angry if he wasn’t so positively hungry for this boy, also if he wasn’t terribly drunk.

 

“Oops.” Harry mumbles, and peers down at his wet shoes. His hand reaches up to brush some of his fringe out of his eyes. The hand lands on his mouth, fingers tugging at his lower lip and his left arm crosses over to cradle his abdomen. He looks up at Louis finally, lip still caught between his thumb and index finger.

 

“Hi.” Louis breathes sharply, body letting out a shudder as he watches Harry fiddle with his lip. “Sorry about your boots. I’ll help you clean ‘em.” Louis begins and twists around to look for a napkin. Harry drops his arms from their respective positions and reaches out to place a delicate hand on the bend of Louis’ elbow.

 

“It’s vodka. If anything it’s cleaning them better than we could.” Harry chuckles deeply and suddenly he feels heavier than ever before. Louis’ eyes follow the spot where Harry’s hand is burning into his skin all the way up, up, up till he meets Harry’s eyes. Green. Like emeralds, or so he’s been told.

 

“I’m Louis.” He breathes, and even his exhale sounds like it’s got a Yorkshire accent. Harry’s hands are itching to get a pen and some paper to just write about how Louis’ accent is strangling every particle in his body.

 

“I know.” Harry chuckles, fangs glinting in the low lighting. They’re hidden again instantly as he shuts his mouth and smiles tight lipped, his arm falling from Louis to his side. “Sorry.”

 

“For what?” Louis’ eyebrows are furrowing in confusion and Harry wants to press his thumb into the little frown that happens in his glabella.

 

“You made a face earlier…” Harry announces, trailing off. He twists around to break the eye contact he’s been making with Louis for far too long. “My teeth?” He tries again when Louis doesn’t reply.

 

“You’re a vampire. It’s fine.” Louis shrugs and brings his lips to his cup. They’re thin and pink and Harry can smell the vodka on them. If Louis’ lips are made of vodka Harry could be an alcoholic.

 

“So why the face?” Harry prods with a smirk, running his tongue over the tip of his fang. He’s surprised at how well this is going. He expected it to be hard to get on with Louis without at least twelve drinks in them respectively. Then they’d be passed out. Then they wouldn’t get on at all. That’s volumes easier than trying and failing to get along with someone.

 

“I like biting.” Louis whispers, a flush settling over his cheeks in embarrassment and _oh God Harry, don’t get a hard on right here_. “Those are just kind of scary. I’m not exactly up for… penetration.”

 

“Well then you’re talking to the wrong guy. I don’t typically bottom.” Harry laughs probably a touch too loud as party goers turn to face him. They don’t seem annoyed though, just buzzed and happy. A few roll their eyes in endearment as if to say “ _ah yes, there goes Harry being charming as per usual._ ”

 

“I meant _puncture_ , Jesus!” Louis laughs, face still bright crimson. His eyes crinkle on the sides when they laugh and Harry doesn’t find it absolutely adorable. He doesn’t. “Who said I’m looking to sleep with you anyways?” Louis sighs, confidence returning to him almost immediately and it feels like a blow to Harry’s chest. Cockiness isn’t painfully sexy. It’s _not_. “I don’t even know your name big guy.”

 

“Harry. Harry Styles, and I’m going to religiously pound into your arse one day.”

 

The laughter of the two bubbles in the air, floating above the heads of everyone and dissipating into the night.

 

* * * * *

**January 27th**

 

Harry’s head is pounding the next morning. For a vampire only needing ten hours of sleep a week, Harry’s sure he’s set for life after the amount of sleeping in he’s done. He wants to throw up, and if his stomach could expel the bile, he would. He can’t though and for that reason he allows his head to throb underneath his snapback as he trudges downstairs into the fraternity’s kitchen.

 

Liam is awake (obviously, because he’s a productive member of society who’s wide awake and has probably already worked out. Ridiculous right?). He’s sipping Synth out of a glass and reading at the breakfast bar in the kitchen. He doesn’t hear Harry come in, just feels when the arms link around his waist. He doesn’t jump, he’s too used to this by now, Harry’s attention that is.

 

“Good morning sunshine, sleep well?” Liam chirps before letting out a low chuckle. He turns in his stool to face Harry, his chocolate eyes widen and he goes slack jawed. “Jesus Christ, you look a right mess.”

 

“Thanks Li, you look great too.” Harry grumbles. He knows he looks like shit okay? He _knows_. Thing is, it’s not even the hangover, or the never ending taste of booze on his tongue. It’s Louis. Because Jesus, last night was too good.

 

* * * * *

 

_“Truth or dare.”_

 

_Louis’ lips were red, red, red. Harry wanted to bite them. He wanted to suck the blood right out of his mouth and just taste him. Maybe that was creepy, or maybe Harry just wanted to know the sweetness of Louis’ mouth the way he knew the bitterness of his own._

 

_“Dare.” Harry’s voice was low and rocky, scratching at the back of his burning throat. He was pissed. Louis was too. Now they were on the floor of one of the Kappa’s bedrooms and they were passing a stolen bottle of gin between them._

 

_“I dare you to go through his nightstand.” Louis giggled as if what he was saying was the most evil thing in the world. Harry thought Louis looked pretty when he smiled. He wouldn’t say that though. Instead he just stood on wobbly legs, tripping over himself only twice before managing to get to the table. Inside was the usual, condoms, lube, tissues. Harry felt bad that maybe Louis was expecting more. Porn maybe, or a dildo._

 

_“Just condoms babe.” Harry replied, his voice slurred as he collapsed back down on the creaky hardwood floor, his head landed on Louis’ lap._

 

_“I’m not your babe!” Louis laughed as he shoved the larger boy off. “And don’t touch me you dick. You... vampire dick. Count Dickula.”_

 

_Harry howled with laughter at the pun. It was pretty tragic but bad puns were alongside knock knock jokes on the list of things Harry finds genuinely funny._

 

_The night continued like that for a while. At some point they stopped drinking and just played the game, possibly because they were far too smashed and didn’t want to end up in A &E. Harry liked to think it was because Louis didn’t feel the need to be hammered around him anymore. Not that it mattered anyway because they were much too far from sobering up. _

 

* * * * *

 

Harry tells Liam all of this, about every silly dare they did,

 

“You really made him steal a pair of pants?”

 

Along with every painfully embarrassing truth.

 

“I can’t believe you wee’d the bed last year. I’m so grateful you can’t do that now or else you wouldn’t be standing in this room if you pissed on Gamma property.” Liam’s laugh is loud though, and he seems jubilant. Harry quirks his brows, because although _yes_ it’s very funny Harry is a grown man (vampire) who pissed the bed a year ago, it’s still not funny enough to explain the joy in Liam’s eyes.

 

Harry can’t recall the last time he saw Liam truly happy. It’s a little sad if he’s being honest. Liam’s always tied up with work and making sure the Gammas are happy. Ever since the old house leader graduated and appointed Liam as “Gamma Daddy,” Liam’s genuine smile is a rare occurrence, only making guest appearances when something ridiculously amazing is happening. Unless the queen is visiting, Harry can’t think of anything except….

 

“Did you bring somebody home?” Harry’s voice is quick. He wants to shove his tongue back into his mouth and saw it off with his own fangs. He bows his head and scratches at the nape of his neck awkwardly before looking up to gauge Liam’s reaction.

 

“No, what… why?” Thankfully Liam isn’t offended, more so just stunned by the nature of Harry’s question. Harry knows it’s forward of him to ask. He also knows that if he and Liam hadn’t made out a whole bunch when they were drunk ages ago the question might seem a little less like Harry is hurt at the idea of Liam with someone else. It wouldn’t be the first time Harry’s acted a bit possessive over things that weren’t really his.

 

* * * * *

 

_Harry was drunk._

 

_This was starting to become a fairly regular state for him to be in. Drunk out of his mind with his jeans sitting far too low on his hips and his cock far too sensitive to even the slightest sweep over it._

 

_“Li? Liiiii?” Harry called out into the darkness. His shaking hand was reaching for a Synth and whiskey combo Liam had made him after asking sweetly, “Have you eaten today?”._

 

_“Coming.” The voice was lost in the darkness and Harry felt his vision swimming, Liam was blurry in front of him suddenly. “You okay? Drink too much again?”_

 

_“Mhmm.” Harry hummed, sighing softly as he wrapped his arms around Liam’s thick middle. His fingertips feathered down Liam’s back, just grazing his spine through the black vest top he wore. Harry heard his breath hitch in his throat as his fingers butterflied down Liam’s waist._

 

_“You wanna go to bed?” Liam’s voice was strained as Harry’s thumbs traced circles (or at least that’s what he was trying to make) on his ribs. He pulled back Harry’s face from his abdomen to look down at the drunken angel beneath him. Harry wouldn’t say anything, but Liam looked like a God and Harry felt like he was down on his knees in worship. Actually being on his knees for Liam didn’t seem like the worst idea… “Hey. Harry. Hey, love let’s get you to bed yeah?” Liam protested in a rush as he kept a tight grip on Harry’s biceps, preventing him from sliding off of the couch to his knees._

 

_“Let’s go to your bed!” Harry sang, his cheeks would be rosy with inebriation if they could colour._

 

_“Yeah okay.” Liam agreed hastily, probably just to get Harry to get off the couch and upstairs so he wouldn’t catch a cold from sleeping next to the open window in the lounge. The crisp October air washed over both of them as Liam struggled to get Harry onto his feet. He slung Harry’s arm around his neck and dragged them both forwards._

 

_The trek upstairs was a difficult one, mostly just for Liam. Harry’s body was pressed against Liam tightly, using him fully for support. When Liam finally made it to Harry’s door (clearly disobeying his pleas to go to Liam’s room) he propped Harry up against the frame and fumbled around in his pocket for the master key._

 

_“Can you tuck me in?” Harry’s voice was wispy soft, curling around Liam’s ear. The cool air sent a shiver down Liam’s spine and he nodded once curtly. He seemed to be struggling to get the key in and Harry idly wondered why. Was it because he was breathing down Liam’s neck and every time Liam came close to opening the door Harry gave a quick swipe of his tongue? Probably._

 

_The door unlocked finally and just as Liam was about to deposit Harry onto his bed and then jump ship, Harry fisted the front of his shirt. Harry sat up in bed and rubbed his bleary eyes, he shook out his curls with a trembling hand. Harry pulled Liam between his legs, looking up at him through his lashes and wetting his whiskey flavoured lips with his tongue slowly before speaking._

 

_“Stay Li. Please? For me?” Harry’s voice was whiny and Liam was getting hard against his thigh. The feeling of Liam’s erection pressing against Harry’s leg was delicious, he let a breathy moan go. He was pinned down instantly._

 

_Liam’s mouth was hot, tongue lashing out against Harry’s, teeth clashing as they kissed sloppily. Hot breaths of air were passed between them and the sound of whimpering and lips sucking against skin filled the air. Harry’s chest burned with lust, or maybe that was his groin. His cock was pressed against his jeans and aching for friction._

 

_“Touch me?” Harry whined as Liam bit at his jaw, trailing kisses and leaving teeth marks behind on Harry’s neck. Harry noticed Liam didn’t have his fangs out. Did he know this was going to happen? Liam’s mouth stopped moving against him once the words were out._

 

_“Harry… I––” Liam started, his hands shaking against Harry’s hips. “You should know I was with Sophia earlier.” The words were like a cartoon anvil that had fallen onto Harry’s chest._

 

_“Sophia?” He croaked out, pushing back a bit. Liam sat up and blinked, his eyes seemed clearer now, less fogged by the storm that was Harry Styles when drunk._

 

_“Yeah um, you know her, we have Geography with her?” Liam mumbled and dragged his palm across the sea of stubble donning his chin. “We um… we got together earlier and…” Liam’s voice trailed off as did his eyes, they searched around the room, the floor, anywhere except Harry’s face._

 

_“You shagged her.” Harry quipped. Liam nodded and that’s when the room went silent. Harry wasn’t sure how many minutes he spent just fuming at Liam who was staring down at him, doe eyed and apologetic._

 

_“Harry you and I… this…” He started, voice soft yet every word sounded too much like an ending. “This was just a bit of fun yeah? It doesn’t––”_

 

_“Don’t.” Harry choked out, his eyes brimming with tears. “Don’t say it doesn’t mean anything because it clearly fucking does to me okay?”_

 

_“But we’re not together Harry. You know that yeah? We talked about that.” Liam’s voice was gentle, like Harry was a baby who just wasn’t understanding why he couldn’t open presents on his sister’s birthday._

 

 _He was right though. They_ weren’t _together. They_ had _talked about it. They talked about it every time Harry cried because Liam went out and got drunk and brought another girl home. Harry kept trying to say Liam just didn’t want to accept that he was gay and that’s why he brought girls home whenever he’d been with Harry for too long. Liam insisted he wasn’t trying to hide anything and he was very comfortable with the fact that he liked girls but also liked kissing Harry, he just didn’t want a boyfriend. Didn’t want_ Harry _to be his boyfriend. It was a long convoluted story about how he couldn’t bring home a man and he’s lucky he likes girls too or else it would’ve made his life a lot harder. Just because it made sense didn’t mean that it hurt any less._

 

_“I know. Trust me, I know.”_

 

* * * * *

 

“Sorry no, I meant like… What are you so chipper about?” Harry tries again, slapping a hand onto his face in embarrassment. Liam’s laugh bursts out of him like a bubble, building so big before he can’t hold it anymore, then _POP!_ He’s in hysterics. Harry tilts his head in childlike amusement, a smile tugging on the corners of his lips. He lets out a chuckle as his brows furrow in confusion. “Liam?”

 

“No it’s just,” Liam heaves, another string of laughter follows before he speaks again, “I’ve never seen you talk about anyone like that and it’s kind of really great.” His chest is convulsing in laughter, and Harry can see the muscles in his back twitch and ripple with every movement he makes.

 

“I don’t like him or anything Liam, jeez. I just… he’s nice you know?” Harry’s throat is burning and if he wasn’t stone cold sober he’d blame it on the booze that was still making him nauseous. “Anyways, that’s not actually funny you know? Like I don’t think that warrants for laughter. I don’t think you know what a joke is Li.” His veins are buzzing though and he isn’t completely sure why. A soft smile curls up the corners of his lips and he scratches his nape lightly.

 

“I’m laughing because you’re a twit and think I can only be happy when I’m getting dicked.” Liam cackles and Harry’s smile falls instantly.

 

“Oh.” He’s flustered, his hands reaching out for something to do and nothing comes up so he’s just standing there grasping the wall for seemingly no reason. “I just thought…” Harry’s brows quirk in confusion again and he squints before looking down at the ground, _thought you might be happy for me._

 

Thing is, Liam has no reason to be happy for Harry because at this moment in time, Harry’s priority with Louis is to get into his jeans. Those painfully tight, sinful, sinful jeans.

 

“Sounds like a great guy though, H.” Liam tries, shrugging before tapping away at his iPad. He stands suddenly, coming face to face with Harry and exhaling before speaking. Harry can smell his breath, hot and musty, it smells like blood and Harry hasn’t eaten all day. His jaw clenches involuntarily at the smell. “I’ve got a class to get to because I’m a moron who signed up for a lecture at ten in the morning,” Liam gives a roll of his warm amber eyes before they crinkle from his cheeky grin, “We’re out of Synth by the way. Have a good day!”

 

Harry could fucking cry honestly. The Synth is one thing, one big big thing, but suddenly he’s standing in a kitchen by himself and the only thing on his mind is the bloody footie player who’s admitted to having ticklish feet but not armpits and _fuck_ why does Harry have to remember every word out of his pretty pink mouth?

 

He groans audibly and bangs his head against the wall where he’s still stupidly stood. His heart would be racing if it could because the regret and lust clouding his mind are not letting him forgive himself for not fucking Louis and just getting over it. But he couldn’t could he? No, because Louis is too uptight, too stubborn, too _good_ for Harry is what he called it. Harry’s just a frat boy, a vampire frat boy who can’t even ace a maths test and hates every poem he's ever written although it's probably the only thing he's a little good at. Meanwhile Louis’ out being a star student and athlete of the century.

 

It’s just that it’s not _fair_ because Harry just wants to make Louis come, just _once_ so he can get the sound of that stupid voice out of his head. So he can just solidify what it’d sound like when Louis’ begging for it so he could just get _over it_ . He just wants to know if Louis talks dirty in foreign languages and–– _shit Styles don’t get hard at the breakfast bar_.

 

Harry’s in the midst of mumbling “ _idiot, idiot, stupid bloody fucking idiot”_ when he hears whistling accompanied by thumping footsteps clambering down the stairs. His head shoots up immediately and prays to whatever deity exists that his semi will be gone by the time Niall arrives to the table, whistling his stupid song that’s too happy for this stupid morning.

 

“G’mornin’!” Niall cheers far too loud for someone who’s just as hangover as Harry.

 

“Niall, I’m grieving, I would appreciate if you could keep the noise to a minimum in my time of need.” Harry groans once, his index and middle finger pinch the bridge of his nose hoping to relieve some tension but more only builds in the skin underneath his fingertips.

 

Everything he touches turns to rust, it’s something he’s learned a long time ago. Not to get too close, not to get too hopeful, even in something as simple as massaging out a pain ends up getting worse. Harry doesn’t know how to fix anything, only knows how to drink and pretend things are okay. Like light shines out of the lip of a bottle and Harry is searching for the sun with every tip of his head. His mouth should taste like sunshine if that were reality but the truth was, Harry had forgotten what his tongue tastes like long ago without the sting of alcohol burning it.

 

“Grieving? Who died?” Niall mumbles around a mouthful of gum he’s produced from his pocket. He offers Harry a piece who politely declines with a raised palm. The smell of sharp cool mint permeates in the room, tingling the insides of Harry’s nose.

 

“My sex life. It’s over Ni. Say goodbye to my cock, we’ve got to cut it off.” Harry whines and Niall practically breaks out into tears with laughter. Harry nods, “Ha ha Niall very funny but I’m being serious you git.” He slaps a hand on Niall’s shoulder lightly before allowing himself to smile just a wee bit. Just a little. Maybe he deserves it.

 

“Anyways, me sex life is flourishing. I shagged that fit bloke last night.” Niall smacks his gum loudly, baring his fangs to get a chuckle out of the grumbling boy in front of him. “Zayn I think? Mate he’s hot, like proper hot. You should _hear_ the sounds he makes, all whiny and quiet. Jesus, I think I’m gonna marry that man, fucking angel in bed.” Niall laughs, but the look on his face is soft, endeared almost, and Harry watches as the smile is dampened on his lips and carried up to his eyes in one fluid motion, and the blue of them brightens just a bit. “I should call him I think… he gave me his number.” The last sentence is mumbled and Harry’s eyes widen like he can’t believe it.

 

“You think? You _think_?! You slept with Zayn bleeding Malik and you’re questioning if you should call him back?” Harry practically spits the words.

 

Zayn is difficult. It’s the one thing everyone knows about the quiet lad who loves to draw, and chain smoke on campus. Harry’s taken a poetry class with Zayn before and the two currently have art history together, and being in a class with Zayn is… distracting. He’s gorgeous is the first thing, his pointed nose and high cheekbones make him look sharp, unapproachable even. His plush lips surrounded by a full– but short– beard give him the rugged look that his amber eyes take away. He is delicate. Like a monarch butterfly, entrancing and burning bright.

 

Harry’s worked with Zayn before, in class at least, and they’ve had to do writing projects together. Zayn doesn’t let people in, he’s cautious, careful, guarded. When Harry once asked to see what Zayn was writing he shied away and mumbled “ _just some words it’s nothing it’s dumb_ ” and Harry had to practically pry the notebook out of the darker boys hands. Harry could cry reading the beautiful words that flowed from the ink of Zayn’s pen, like rivers carving out stone.

 

Zayn doesn’t like it though. He prefers to draw which Harry noted early on in their class time together. He’s always doodling and drawing these amazing intricate pieces of artwork and Harry is now honestly just fucking stunned; Niall got Zayn to sleep with him.

 

“How’d you even accomplish that?” Harry asks, eyes wide in confusion. Zayn is the most closed off, mysterious person that comes to Harry’s mind so it’s astounding someone as loud and overwhelming as Niall managed to breach the brick wall of Zayn Malik.

 

“We just talked.” Niall shrugs before continuing, “I saw him smoking outside and complimented his tattoos, told him I don’t have any. It took a while to get him chatting but after I bugged him for about five minutes trying to guess his major, he just burst and said ‘ART!’ to get me to shut up.” Niall chuckles, he runs a pale hand through his even paler blond quiff. “Only made me talk more though if I’m honest, I asked to see his drawings and after like, an hour of me pestering him and him calling me a drunk nuisance he showed me.” Niall turns to Harry then, eyes wide like saucers, mouth gaping like a fish, “H, you should see these drawings like I mean… wow. The talent this bloke has is amazing. I can’t believe he’s not in the fucking Louvre in France or something.”

 

“Amazing story Nialler but talking about art doesn’t equal making sweet, sweet love in a Kappa’s bed.” Harry chuckles. He ignores the burning feeling of jealousy bubbling in his gut as Niall blathers on about how the two kept talking, and eventually Zayn made the first move. Harry used to be ace at getting laid, nowadays it’s like anyone who speaks to him for more than five minutes can see the desperateness in Harry’s eyes, see how much he longs for that connection, and that just seems to scare them off.

 

“He made me promise I wouldn’t just fuck off after we bonked. I said I wouldn’t and I’m a man of me word.” Niall smiles proudly before tapping away at his phone.

 

“You’re going to befriend Zayn Malik?” Harry asks, bewildered.

 

“Mate, I told you… I’m gonna marry that man. Befriending him is the least of my concerns, I need to figure out how to propose to him immediately.” Niall laughs but Harry isn’t sure if his laugh is about his comment, or the text message that _ping!_ -ed on his phone. They sit in silence for a bit whilst Niall taps away at his phone until Harry gets an idea. Granted, a probably very _dumb_ idea but it’s an idea nonetheless.

 

“Could you give me Zayn’s number? I need it for an art history thing.” Harry tries to sound nonchalant but on the inside he’s quaking. _Idiot, Niall will see right through you, classes have barely started up. He’s gonna––_

 

“Sure mate.”

 

Thank God Niall is more gullible than Harry thought. Harry smiles bright as Niall shares the contact to Harry and wordlessly leaves the room, gaze still fixed on his screen. Harry looks down at his phone, the text from Niall with his saved contact information for Zayn stares straight back at him. _It’s now or never_ , he thinks before huffing out a nervous sigh.

 

**Hey Zayn, it’s Harry. I was just wondering if there’s any way you could give me Louis’ number? We had loads of fun last night and I forgot to ask for it. x**

 

He drops his phone like it’s on fire onto the breakfast bar. _What have I done?_ Now he’s in too deep. This was meant to be fun. It was meant to be just flirting, possibly a bit of fucking, now it’s turned into Harry being an anxious mess over whether or not Louis will want to see him. He blames it on the hormones, blames it on wanting to fuck Louis just to get over it. Whatever _it_ was, Harry didn’t want it. He feared it, and he was sure Louis wouldn’t want it either, at least not from him. His phone vibrates loudly against the marble surface of the bar, screen lighting up with a notification. Zayn.

 

**_if he didn’t give u his number he doesn’t wanna talk to u. whatever “fun” u had died with last night. if lou wanted to be ur friend, or fuck u, or whatever u think, he'd have done it by now._ **

 

Well… this couldn’t have gone worse. Harry’s stomach twists and he exhales a shuddery breath. Honestly, what was he expecting? Certainly not for Zayn to just cave and give out his mate’s phone number as if it were candy. Harry’s seconds away from just not showing up to his first class to sit at home and scribble in his notebook until his phone buzzes again. The sound seems to echo through the room and Harry’s not ready to get digitally berated by Zayn again.

 

**_seems he did have a good time with u after all._ **

 

Harry squints at the sequence of numbers following the text.

 

“Jesus.” He mumbles and rubs his eyes because he _must_ be seeing things. There is no way, in God’s almighty heaven, or in Satan’s hell or any other deities grounds that Zayn just sent him Louis’ phone number. Mathematically, if Harry were to calculate it somehow, it’d be impossible. Yet there it is, in pixelated black and white.

 

Harry does what any sane person would do and immediately saves the number into his phone and decides to try and make it to his poetry class on time, running on an empty stomach and a fuckload of adrenaline. He makes it with two minutes to spare.

 

* * * * *

 

Harry should’ve known signing up for poetry would’ve been a bad idea. Especially when you’re the arsehole who gets their poems printed in school papers, in like _every_ school paper since you’ve started going to university. Harry’s that arsehole.

 

“God Macy, did you read his poem last week? Who knew he could write like that?”

 

Harry’s not immune to the mumbling, or the whispering, or the blatant talking about him right in front of his face. In this case it’s right behind him in class, on the louder side of whispering and it’s also not the most subtle.

 

“I _know_ ! God he’s so cute too, heard he’s a great shag, that Styles.” The second girl replies and Harry can’t help but smirk at that one. Compliments are nice, though Harry has probably gotten too used to hearing himself only referred to by his surname. Along with being his family name, _Styles_ is the pseudonym he publishes his work under; it’s also what his fraternity brothers, and professors call him. Harry’s pretty sure the only person who doesn’t call him Styles is Liam.

 

“Have you read that book he did? _Morning After_ ? Macy, he writes _poems_ for you after he’s shagged you. Bloody _poems_ , and they get published. Imagine reading a poem and it’s about your pussy, that’s mental.”

 

Harry turns in his seat then as the professor is writing down his information on the board.

 

“You know I’m not deaf right? Although I appreciate all the kind words, I don’t enjoy being talked about behind my back.” Harry smiles sweetly to juxtapose his sharp words. The girls freeze behind him, eyes wide and mouths rounded into pretty ‘o’s.

 

“Sorry! Oh, sorry Styles. I– I didn’t.” The one who Harry has deduced _isn’t_ Macy speaks.

“It’s fine. For the record, I am a great shag.” Harry winks before turning around because well, it’s true. Harry _is_ a great shag, well known on campus for his one night stands that usually end in poems and him being far too on edge after it’s all said and done. Harry’s learned his lesson in sex, people don’t usually want to stay and cuddle, and they probably don’t actually like you.

 

* * * * *

 

_“Why won’t you just hold me?” Harry’s voice was strained as Liam tugged his black henley over his head. Harry counted down the seconds until Liam’s muscular abdomen was hidden away again. He got to two._

 

_“Harry I told you I wouldn’t stay the night.” Liam sighed and scrubbed a hand over his face, bitten down nails scratching at the stubble on his cheeks. He did say that, a hundred times as Harry begged and begged Liam to sleep over whilst jerking him off._

 

_“You never stay Li. Never. You live right down the hall and you could just stay one night! One night so we could just cuddle–” Harry started to protest, he reached out for Liam with a trembling hand._

 

_“Harry. Stop. Christ you always have to go and make me feel like shit don’t you? Every time.” Liam’s voice was sharp, like a slap to the face to poor Harry who was crumpled in defeat on the worn duvet. His hand fell back to his side and Liam shook his head slowly, like he was trying to clear his thoughts. “This is meant to be a bit of fun, but it’s like,” Liam wet his lips with a slow swipe of his tongue, “you always have to go and make it sad at the end. You always have to beg me to stay. You know I can’t, you know I have to say no.”_

 

_“You don’t have to.” Harry whimpered, his voice cracking before he could get out his last word._

 

_“I do though. You know that H.” Liam stood from the side of the bed where he’d been sitting. He didn’t turn back as he walked to the door in his socks. Superman, a hole in the big toe of the right one, Harry would remember them. He always remembered when Liam walked away._

 

_“You never want to stay.” Harry’s voice was low, like he didn’t mean for Liam to hear._

 

_“Harry.” Liam froze by the door, shoulders bunching beneath the soft fabric of his t-shirt, the same t-shirt he’d balled into Harry’s mouth earlier. “Almost no one is going to want to stay. That’s something you’re going to have to learn one way or another.” He walked out on Harry without waiting for a reply._

 

_He’d left his shoes behind._

 

* * * * *

 

After a class in which the professor basically sucked Harry off in front of the whole class with his “ _we have a real celebrity in our presence!_ ” and “ _I couldn’t be more honored to have Mr. Styles in my class!_ ” Harry gathers the courage to text Louis. Maybe it’s all the hyping him up in class that makes him feel confident or maybe it’s the lack of blood he’s consumed making him go a bit crazy, but he conducts what he thinks to be a clever text and fires it off.

 

**Hello Louis! It’s Harry Styles, gentle reminder that I’m going to religiously pound into your bum and I’d like to get more details about the aforementioned bottom. Please contact me immediately and let me know a time and place we can meet so I can get well acquainted with the arse I’ll be spending some time getting to know. x**

 

He’d pray for things to go over well, but has learned at this point that whoever’s listening usually likes to fuck him over regardless. Maybe it’s because he’s dead and defying the laws of nature by still being around. He doesn’t think about it much but it’d make sense for God to have a bit of a grudge with him. The buzzing of his phone is too quick to be good and he immediately regrets going down the douchey path that only ever gets him so far. Confident humour usually works in his favour but the feeling in his gut he gets before reading Louis’ response seems to be telling him otherwise.

 

**_cheeky . no meeting my bum . i will however be at starbucks on campus at 12 . ur welcome to join for tea ._ **

 

Harry’s still trying to figure out why on earth Louis’ actually decided to reply to him and is about to ask if maybe he’s hit his head on something hard when his phone buzzes again.

 

**_or blood i guess would be the vampire equivalent …_ **

 

Yep. Definitely some head trauma.

 

* * * * *

 

Louis’ taking a sip from a steaming paper cup when Harry walks in, one hand gripping the strap of his backpack, the other holding his moleskine notebook at his side. Harry feels a flutter in his abdomen underneath the butterfly tattoo on his skin. It’s times like this where Harry regrets the “butterflies in your stomach” pun he got tattooed on him because it’s such a pain to remember that sometimes it’s still relevant. It hasn’t been in a while, as Harry usually just pushes aside any feelings for anyone and buries them in lust and alcohol. Since there is no noticeable alcohol in the campus Starbucks, Harry has to suck it up and chalk it all up to hormones as he orders his drink.

 

“Do you do Synth here?” Harry asks after the barista punches in his order.

 

“It’s over by the milk love.” The kind olive skinned girl behind the counter replies, gesturing with a nod of her head towards the table topped with assorted milks and sugars for the beverages. Harry says a quick “cheers” and heads over to the table by the window where Louis is sitting, piping hot venti drink in his delicate hand and equally massive iPhone 6S+ in the other.

 

“You know for someone quite tiny you don’t like to deal with small things.” Harry jests lightly as he drops his bag on the seat across from Louis. “This seat taken?” _Oh God Harry, did you really just–._

 

“It’s about to be, if you say something terribly cliché, or make a comment about me size again. Thanks.” Louis raises a brow, a smirk settles across his thin pink lips and Harry wants to scream. He hasn’t been laid in so long and if Louis even so much as opens his mouth one more time Harry may explode.

 

“Nah it’s good you don’t deal with small things,” Harry begins, ignoring his brain chanting the word _DON’T_  at high velocity, “means you and I will have a good time together.” _Well shit Styles there you go._ Harry doesn’t exactly know why he’s like this sometimes, a dickhead that is. Because the thing is, he’s not actually. Harry was raised right, always respectful, he’s got great manners; it’s just that maybe after a few times of being treated like a doormat he’s grown a bit thicker skin. Apparently thicker skin means being a right twat.

 

Louis rolls his eyes and gives a confused smile in a way that seems to say _Jesus what_ are _you_? He opens his mouth to probably repeat the phrase Harry has heard one too many times until the barista starts calling out for Harry’s drink.

 

“Styles! Grande iced coffee for Styles?”

 

Harry’s brows perk up as his name is called and yes okay _maybe_ he name-dropped himself just to get faster service. It was all in the name of more foot traffic to this particular Starbucks anyways. It gets a few people turning heads as Harry walks over to retrieve his drink. He thanks the barista with a grin too large for his face before sauntering over to the milk slash sugar (and apparently Synth) station to prepare his drink to his liking. This meant pouring as much complimentary synthetic blood as he could into a leather wrapped steel flask and carrying it back over to the table where Louis was just tapping away at his phone.

 

Louis looks up to watch Harry pour the dark fluid from the flask into his drink. He arches a perfectly shaped brow as the liquid blends in with Harry’s otherwise unadulterated coffee.

 

“Are you trying to get even more hungover?” Louis chides as he straightens out his maroon t-shirt. “Do vampires get hungover?” His tone sounds genuinely curious rather than his usual sarcastic timbre.

 

“It’s Synth you dingus, and yes vampires can get hungover. I’m pretty sure I’ve spent ninety five percent of my time in university hungover.” Harry rebutes, rolling his eyes to match the blue ones sitting across from him at the table.

 

 _His eyes roll in like the tides. Washing away everything I thought I knew to be true._ Harry wants to scribble in his moleskine, and he laughs to himself about how cliché he fucking sounds. Comparing blue eyes to the sea, unoriginal, but the people eat that shit up.

 

“What’s it taste like?” Louis asks, blowing the steaming lid of his drink. Harry catches the scent in the air, he can taste it on the tip of his tongue. Yorkshire tea. Cheeky lad, matching his tea to his accent and presumably, hometown.

 

“Blood..?” Harry chuckles lightly. His eyebrows furrowed in endearment and no, _no_ , he’s not endeared okay? He _can’t_ be, he _won’t_ be.

 

“Very charming.” Louis mocks. “Is it any good?”  


“Well yes Louis I’m a vampire, so blood tastes very good to me.”

 

If Louis wasn’t ready to just get up and abandon the one man stand up act that is Harry Styles before, he sure as hell is now. Harry’s actually surprised Louis’ made it quite this far. He’s either desperate to get laid (and get a poem) or he’s just gone mental.

 

“Can you taste other food?”

 

If Harry is hoping for any indication of which of the two categories Louis falls under, his follow up question doesn’t help determine this at all. Harry’s dumbfounded as to why this boy seems to care so much about such arbitrary things and part of him is wondering how on earth he’s going to hold up a conversation with this person.

 

It’s just… it’s been a while since Harry’s spoken to anyone for longer than twenty minutes to discuss anything other than hooking up.

 

Harry’s so lost in the midst of trying to figure out the last time he had a proper conversation that he’s forgotten he’s having one right now. With a very handsome boy. Whom he may or may not want to put his lips on. Everywhere.

 

“Oh! Yeah, sorry. Yeah, we uh... I can.” Harry fumbles for words, his tongue essentially useless in making conversation as it usually is in these situations. Louis raises a brow. Harry’s shocked they haven’t flown off his face by the amount he raises them in silent judgement at every word out of Harry’s mouth.

 

“So wouldn't this ruin the flavour of your drink?” Louis asks and at this point Harry is sure Louis must be fucking with him. No one has been this interested in conversing with him since he turned, or since he got published… Harry isn’t sure which came first at this point.

 

“Ah small––”

 

Louis squints to glare at Harry.

 

“Ah tall, gigantic, towering Louis.” Harry corrects himself and the sides of Louis’ eyes crinkle as he puts on a smile that seems to say _that’s right motherfucker_. “That’s where you’re wrong. Blood makes everything better! Food, drinks,” Harry pauses to wiggle his brows at Louis, “cocks.”

 

“You see I knew it, I knew you couldn’t last a full minute without making everything about sex again.” Louis scoffs, voice high with accusation. He takes a gulp of his tea.

 

Harry watches the steam curl around Louis’ face and he decides he hates Louis. He hates how effortlessly pretty he is and he hates how badly he wants those lips wrapped around his cock. Harry hates Louis and he wants to hate fuck Louis. That’s probably not very healthy.

 

“Does it make you uncomfortable?” Harry growls the words, a smirk dances on the right side of his lips. He taps his fingers across the lid of his drink before taking a sip, the synthetic blood immediately making him feel more awake. “You a virgin or something Tomlinson?”

 

Louis’ eyes are half lidded, squinted in a way that makes Harry clench his paper cup possibly too tight, causing a splash of his coffee and blood concoction to pour over onto his fingers. He’s never been afraid of a human before but Louis’ gaze could freeze hell over.

 

“Definitely not a virgin, Styles. A body like mine doesn’t just go unadmired and unfucked. Nice move there by the way, real subtle.” Louis nods towards the spill next to Harry’s tattooed hand. The beverage is trickling down Harry’s wrist and he’s half hard in his jeans from the way Louis glares at him. Louis’ stare lightens up though and he tears his eyes away from Harry to twist his Starbucks cup in his hand, examining the mermaid logo. “Funny that, didn’t think you’d remember me surname after all you had to drink last night.”  


“Could say the same for you.” Harry retorts. He doesn’t know when this became a game of sassy tennis but he’s glad he can keep up. Having an older sister helped him learn how to be quick with his wit. Harry’s mopping the mess of his drink off his hand and the tabletop when he realises this might actually be flirting. For the first time ever, he doesn’t exactly know what to do if it is.

 

“How could I forget the last name of the man who’s supposedly going to ram me into next weekend?” Louis giggles and the spell is broken. It’s a precious sound, far too innocent for it’s context. “Do vampires need to eat other food?” The question is capricious, stunning Harry in it’s lighthearted nature. If Louis is anything, it’s goddamn good looking, and confusing as hell.

 

“You offering to take me to dinner?” Harry quips, his tongue pokes out to wet his lips and he watches Louis’ eyes follow the muscle across the plush pinkness of his mouth. Harry knows he’s got nice lips, he knows Louis’ noticed.

 

“You’d probably have to answer me question first in order for me to answer yours.” Louis shrugs, his eyes trailing their way back up to meet Harry’s green ones.

 

When they make eye contact Harry feels like he’s on fire. Like a blue flame, Louis’ eyes burn the hottest. He isn’t sure what exactly it is about Louis that makes him feel like he’s being examined under a magnifying glass. Maybe it’s that no matter how cringe worthy something is that Harry says, Louis doesn’t do anything than scoff and make a joke about it before bringing it back to proper conversation. Louis knows he’s too good for Harry, he’s probably just here to try and make a fool out of the vampire.

 

“No,” Harry starts, “No I don’t need to eat food, I just like to. It just tastes nice.” He shrugs before taking another sip of his drink. The flavour of blood is overwhelming and Harry’s vision is swimming in red.

 

Feeding has always been a touch too pleasurable for Harry. The glands at the edges of his jaw tingle. His tongue is reaching out for more of the concoction, searching for any remaining blood on his gums or teeth before poking out of his lips to clean any remaining blood off of them. To his dismay and probably Louis’ delight, there’s none.

 

“So do vampires use the bathroom?” Louis’ voice cuts through Harry’s orgasmic pleasure of having eaten for the first time all day. Harry stops drinking just to sit and gape at Louis because _really_ ? Did he _really_ just ask–

 

“You’re asking if I can take shits?” Harry is completely awe-struck. Any sense he had before of trying to play it cool, trying to show Louis that he doesn’t care what the boy thinks, any of that, has completely flown out the window at this point. Louis bloody Tomlinson just asked if Harry Styles and any other vampire can take shits. And Harry thinks it’s fucking hilarious. His laughter erupts out of him in a way Louis probably wasn’t expecting by the way he flinches at the sound. It’s a howling laugh, shaking Harry’s body as he throws his head back to cackle at the fact that _Louis Tomlinson just asked if he can take a shit_.

 

“Jesus Christ Styles.” Louis grumbles but Harry can see the grimace doesn’t meet his eyes. Some might call it endearment the way Louis watches Harry go through the motions of his outburst. Harry doesn’t call it anything, he doesn’t let himself see it as anything. He hasn’t let himself _see_ anything in a while.

 

“Why, you wanna Two Girls One Cup it?” Harry chortles before starting up his uncontrollable laughter again at the way Louis’ eyes widen.

 

“Fuck, no. Ew.” Louis snaps, face completely missing any softness as it scrunches into disgust, nose upturned at the thought. “You’re gross, never mind. Why did I think this would be a good idea? Why did I think a fucking frat boy would be tolerable?” It doesn’t sound like Louis is saying the last bit for Harry to hear, it’s probably too low for human ears. Harry picks up the sound though and that hurts more. It hurts way more knowing Louis’ scolding himself for having faith in Harry.

 

Part of Harry isn’t surprised at all that Louis’ gathering his things to walk away and he’s mentally tallying off another person who couldn’t stay. Harry slaps himself mentally then as well, because it’s _his_ bleeding fault. It’s not _Louis_ who couldn’t stay. It’s _Harry_ pushing him away. It’s always Harry’s fault because he’s fucking wretched and makes terrible jokes, and he makes people uncomfortable and it’s his fault. Then he has the audacity to go and complain that no one likes him.

 

He takes the leap of faith that Louis’ purposefully taking a bit longer than it probably should to get his things together, and reaches across the table, encompassing Louis’ delicate wrist with his much larger hand. Louis looks at where their skin meets, he doesn’t make eye contact with Harry.

 

“Hey, no no. Stay. I’m sorry yeah? I didn’t mean that. I was just kidding yeah? I was joking.” Harry’s voice is softer, pleading almost. He doesn’t want to force Louis to stay if he doesn’t want to so he releases his grip and looks out the window before speaking again.

 

“No, vampires don’t use the bathroom.” He clears his throat of the lump forming there and watches the other students walk around in the light blanket of snow. He imagines what it’d feel like crunching under his boots. He rolls up the cuffs of his grey jumper to hit just above his wrists then, and tucks a piece of stray fringe back underneath his black snapback.

 

“So,” Louis starts, sitting down again and dropping his bag to the floor in its previous spot. His cup is still cradled in his hands, thumbs running down the sides. “What happens when you, you know, _digest_.” He says the word like it’s a secret. Harry doesn’t find it adorable, despite what the fucking butterflies in his stomach have to say about it.

 

“Turns into energy. It’s why we have to sleep less.” Harry taps his temple with two fingers.

 

“Do you cry?”

 

“Not because I can’t shit, no. I used to though. Taking shits was my favourite past-time and now I can’t indulge.” Harry chuckles.

 

“Oh god you spork. No not like that, I meant like in general.” Louis flails his hands in the air in an attempt to make a circle to demonstrate the word _general_ , but the caffeine is making his hands shake and Harry is mesmerised.

 

“Yeah we can still cry,” Harry begins, watching Louis place his quivering palms face down on the table, “and come.” He finishes with a wink too cheeky to be okay.

 

“Oh god, you are so vulgar.” Louis chides.

 

“Just for you baby.” Harry blows a loud kiss to Louis who grumbles at the sound. He swats the air in front of him as if the air kiss could actually infect him.

 

“If you call me that one more time you’re going to wish you weren’t able to cry.” Louis snarls and Harry’s lips quirk up at the corners.

 

“Will I wish I’d be able to shit?” He retorts and Louis groans loudly, thumping his head against the table, but Harry is too busy laughing at his own brand of special humour to pay it any attention.

 

It’s probably the most pleasant conversation he’s had in awhile.

 

* * * * *

 

The walk back to their respective residences is quiet. Harry whistles under his breath as he kicks around a chunk of ice with the toe of his leather boot. Louis’ still got his cup in between his hands, and he’s shivering despite being in a [ denim jacket ](https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/236x/26/de/48/26de48cddcad7ec925f182d935076f0e.jpg) with a sheepskin collar. Honestly, it doesn’t look too warm if Harry’s being honest and it’s likely Louis’ one of those types who dresses for style rather than comfort.

 

“Cold?” Harry asks, a smirk settling on his lips. Of course Louis is cold, it’s bloody _freezing_ out, he has every right to be.

 

“Kind of,” Louis’ teeth chatter and he takes another sip of his tea, which Harry idly hopes is hot enough to warm his exposed hands. “You’re the one in just the jumper. Which, by the way, has [ elbow pads ](http://25.media.tumblr.com/4783dce018f394ca959c6282d5dd35cb/tumblr_n0e26952BT1rko18bo5_250.gif), which are stupid.” Louis smiles into his cup and looks at Harry deviously through his lashes.

 

Harry sticks his tongue out because he’s a mature adult, and kicks up a bit of snow onto Louis’ jeans.

 

“Can’t you put your teeth away?” Louis flinches at the long pointed canines. Harry runs his tongue over the extended bone and passes the sharp tip of his fangs against his tongue.

 

Honestly, he’s just never thought of retracting them.

 

“Yeah, I can, I just don’t.” Harry shrugs and hikes his bookbag higher up on his shoulder. The strap tugs down at the collar of his jumper, exposing the tattoos on his left side underneath his clavicle. Louis’ eyes graze over the ink, and Harry looks from the corner of his eye as Louis tilts his head trying to figure out the meaning of the blocky 17BLACK that takes up residence on his skin.

 

“Hey, my eyes are up here! Quit objectifying me.” Harry laughs and Louis turns away, face flaring up.

 

“I was just trying to figure out the deep poetic meaning behind your tattoo, if there is any?” Louis tilts his head up at Harry, voice an octave too high to be believable. If Harry didn’t know any better he’d say Louis was checking him out. Except Harry does know better, and he knows Louis’ weirdly straightforward so he probably is being honest. Unfortunately.

 

“I only tell the meanings of my tattoos to boys with pretty blue eyes who let me pound into their bums.” Harry winks and lets out a cackle.

 

“It’s such a shame that me eyes are brown then innit?” Louis teases back then with a pout before sticking his tongue out at the taller boy. Harry wants to suck it into his mouth.

 

“Anyways you twit, why _don’t_ you put your teeth away?” Louis jeers then chugs down the final bits of his tea and tosses it towards the rubbish bin that’s too far for him to even hit with his cup.

 

“Well,” Harry begins before jogging ahead to pick up Louis’ cup and toss it in the bin. Louis looks at him with a brow raised in disbelief, Harry shrugs back. _What?_ He doesn’t like to litter okay? If he’s going to be on earth until the planet explodes and dies out, it might as well not be rubbish. “It’s just a habit I guess. Everyone at the frat bares their teeth, it’s a brotherhood thing.”

 

“Well I mean Zayn’s in a vampire frat and I don’t think I’ve seen his fangs once.” Louis shrugs and Harry stops in his tracks. It takes Louis a second to realise Harry’s not moving before he stops and swivels around to face the gaping vampire. “What?”

 

“Zayn’s a vampire?” Harry’s truly shocked. He is, because Zayn has never once made it seem like he’s anything other than human. Zayn’s quiet, looks like he needs to be asleep ninety percent of the time, and chain smokes like he’s _trying_ to die. Which kind of makes sense honestly, not like he can actually _get_ lung cancer. Harry wonders if anyone else he knows is a vampire but because they don’t bare their fangs he just has no clue.

 

Vampires aren’t exactly distinguishable from humans. Besides the teeth (which are retractable) and the eyes that darken if you go too long without feeding, most vampire traits are invisible. The only other physical attribute is healing at extremely quick rates, but it’s rare to just happen upon a vampire getting a cut or bruise. The first two weeks after Harry had turned he’d spent quite a bit of time just _trying_ to get injured, just to watch it heal rapidly in front of his eyes.

 

Louis walks back to where Harry is still standing, his brows furrowed in confusion. He bumps Harry’s ribs with his elbow.

 

“Come on, it’s fucking freezing out.” His voice is shaky as he speaks through chattering teeth and Harry wishes he could just breathe heat into Louis.

 

“Zayn’s a vampire.” Harry repeats. Not a question this time.

 

“Yeah, and as I said, never seen his teeth once. Considerate lad he is.” Louis smiles, his cheeks rounding out as he does so. “Not like you Styles, trying to intimidate me with those little baby fangs.” Louis turns to face Harry as they walk, a glint in his eye as he bants with Harry.

 

“I’ll have you know I _can_ make them longer Tomlinson, if these weren’t scary enough.” Harry hisses, baring his fangs again, letting them out just a little more. Full fangs are reserved for when you want to hunt though, long pointy things that get in the way of speech and are truly frightening. Gamma Psi stick to a halfway point between human canines and full fangs, just long enough to show off who and what they are, and can still get the job done if they need to feed.

 

“Oh God, don’t.” Louis shivers and Harry likes to think it’s from the cold and not fear. Harry doesn’t actually want to scare Louis. Not like he’d ever say that though.

 

“ _Anyways_ ,” Louis glares at Harry before continuing, “if you’d let me finish ever–”

 

“I promise you’ll always finish when you’re with me.”  
  
“Cheeky. I may vomit.” Louis snorts and shoves Harry, effectively getting his wrists caught by the vampire with super speed that he somehow manages to forget about. Harry pulls Louis close, their faces are inches away and Harry can smell the tea on his breath.

 

He slowly raises his brows and bares his teeth, licking at his fangs. The guttural noise in the back of his throat is meant to be a joke but the whimper of fear Louis emits is anything but funny. Harry feels the shudder of Louis’ breath against his skin, hears the way the air catches in his throat when the light hits Harry’s fangs just right.

 

“Sorry.” Harry’s voice is gravely, getting stuck in his throat as he releases Louis’ wrists. The smaller boy is rubbing at the skin now, eyes wide as he looks back up at Harry.

 

“So no teasing I guess.” Louis breathes. Harry feels a pang in his chest at the way Louis sounds like he’s fucking _gasping_ for air. Like Harry scared the living hell out of him.

 

Harry wants to die all over again.

 

“No, no. It’s my fault. I’m sorry. I was just teasing.” Harry’s voice is quick and if it’s aquiver he hopes Louis doesn’t notice. “Sorry I uh, keep interrupting you.” Harry apologises again, hand reaching out to adjust the back of his beanie, fingers tangling in the hair curling at the back of his head. “Continue, please.” Harry croaks, tugging lightly at the loose tendrils of hair.

 

“As I was saying,” Louis begins with a sigh and a playful glare pointed at Harry, “it’s weird you guys all have your teeth out all the time, lots of other fraternities don’t do that. Is that like a rule for you lot?”

 

Their pace back to the residences is slow, and Harry doesn’t want to admit that the Gamma house is about twenty feet away. He’ll pretend it’s because it’s boring at home. It’s not a complete lie, it _is_ quite boring without someone to properly banter with.

 

“Well Gamma Psi are the first vampire fraternity… like ever.” Harry shrugs acting like it’s no big deal when honestly, it’s kind of a huge fucking deal.

 

Harry knows that he’s lucky as shit they chose him to be their brother out of the hundreds of student pledges that come in every year hoping to turn, hoping to get their tuition lessened or even completely paid for by the school, hoping to be a part of something so elite. Then there’s Harry, who sits in his room all day, jerking off in his snapbacks and writing poems. Truly a golden example of what exactly a Gamma man should be.

 

“They’re really selective I guess, so once you’re in it’s kind of important that you show that you’re proud to be a vampire, proud to be a _Gamma_ .” Harry emphasises and smiles softly at the word. _Gamma_.

 

* * * * *

 

_His mum was proud, happy mostly because she wouldn’t have to pay for him to go to university anymore. She cried a little when Harry mentioned the fraternity at first, and that he wanted to turn. She accepted it and supported him obviously because she’s the most amazing woman in the world, but it didn’t mean that she was completely happy she’d never actually watch her son age past nineteen._

 

_She had said it was good that he would always be handsome though. Not like he’d ever stop being handsome because, well, he is her son after all. Harry smiled at that._

 

_She said at least now she can be certain her son will outlive her, and she’ll never have to worry about him getting hurt. Harry cried at that._

 

_He cried a lot about turning when it came down to it._

 

_* * * * *_

 

“So why you then?”

 

Louis’ voice snaps Harry’s mind back to the present. He blinks back the wetness forming in his eyes and crinkles his nose, sniffling in an attempt to blame it on the biting winter air. They’re only a few feet away from the Gamma house now, standing on the pavement in front of the building. Louis’ eyes are tracing the looping Greek letters engraved on a large plaque nailed to the front door.

 

“I can do a two minute keg stand.”

 

Louis bursts into laughter. After wiping the tears from his eyes he looks up at Harry with a deadpan expression and says,

 

“Wow Harry, you said they were exclusive but you didn’t mention how classy they are too.”

 

_* * * * *_

 

**January 28th**

 

Harry admittedly loves not having to sleep. It means he got to text Louis stupid memes and strings of emojis that he made Louis decipher instead of just typing like a normal person all of last night. After one too many eggplant–peach–water droplet combinations, Louis said goodnight. It was four in the morning.

 

It’s currently ten in the morning and thankfully Liam restocked on Synth last night so Harry wouldn’t have to. At least Harry pins it on Liam because despite being the one person who could use his pouty lips and puppy dog eyes to get anyone to do anything at all, he’s also the only mature one who gets shit done. So he’s went and got Synth and now Ed is chatting with Nick at the breakfast bar over glasses of the synthetic blood and cheese on toast.

 

“Morning gents.” Harry practically sings the words to his pledge brothers. They nod their heads in acknowledgment. Nick cheers back the words whilst Ed mumbles them. Truly a great example of their contrasting personalities.

 

Nick is loud, flamboyant, funny. Nick used to be one of Harry’s best friends until Harry and Liam started fucking. Then it got weird.

 

* * * * *

 

_It didn’t get weird because Nick cared about their sex lives. No. It got weird because Harry started moping about Liam and Liam had Sophia upstairs and Harry could hear her trying to be quiet, moaning into his pillow. Harry never got to moan into Liam’s pillow. Liam always said he never liked to fuck in his bed, but that seemed to be a lie every time Sophia came around._

 

_Nick didn’t like when Harry moped, especially when it came to someone who clearly wasn’t moping about him. Nick said Harry was turning into a drag, and he was the second person to call Harry that. The first one was currently upstairs, plowing into a pretty brunette. One that wasn’t Harry._

 

* * * * *

Ed is a sweetheart. Quiet, preferring to get drunk and high and play his guitar on the couch in the lounge. Sometimes Niall joins him and they sing really dumb––but great––songs together. Harry used to join, but again, thanks to Liam he kind of stopped coming up with happy lyrics.

 

Poetry turned into his outlet.

 

His first “Morning After” poem is about Liam. He doesn’t ever let Harry live down the fact that he’s basically the reason Harry gets published. Harry doesn’t ever let Liam live down the fact that he should be grateful Harry didn’t explicitly write “I FUCKED LIAM PAYNE” three hundred times and publish that instead.

 

Nick and Ed are idly chattering at the breakfast bar and sucking their fangs clean of synthetic blood when the first moan is heard.

 

“Oh Jesus.” Ed grunts, dropping his head onto the marble surface. His ginger hair flops against the bar and Nick runs his fingers through the strands.

 

“Ugh, not again.” Nick groans, his fingers working in small circles at the nape of Ed’s neck now.

 

Harry doesn’t get how they’ve never fucked for how close they are. Maybe it’s because Ed is straight. Maybe because most best friends don’t fuck each other and Harry is just insane. He’s lucky he and Liam have a stronger bond than just the physical one they had many months ago, and that they’ve somehow managed to stay friends.

 

“What is that?” Harry questions. The second moan is louder and undeniably Irish. “Oh Jesus, should I even ask who Niall is bumming upstairs?”

 

“You’re kidding mate.” Ed’s voice is muffled from the counter. “I wish I was as clueless as you right now.”

 

“Mate you really didn’t hear this… all of last night?” Nick asks. His eyes look pained, Harry almost laughs at how wide they are. Nick looks like he’s _seen things_ , and Harry finds it absolutely side-splitting.

 

“I didn’t, I had headphones in. What poor bloke is experiencing Niall’s miniscule prick?” Harry chuckles and Nick looks at him and–– oh.

 

Oh.

 

“Zayn?!” Harry almost yells, he could’ve if he wanted to. Not like the two lovers upstairs would’ve heard because Zayn’s cry is ear piercing. Harry shudders. “I have never wanted to hear Niall’s name said like that.”

 

The two boys laugh; Ed decidedly less enthusiastic than Nick. Seeing as Ed’s room is right next to Niall’s, he’s probably had a worse night than the loud one with the ridiculous quiff.

 

“How did you miss this last night?” Nick muses, “Hours Styles, I’m talking straight hours of vampire porn.”

 

“Did everyone know Zayn was a vampire but me?!” Harry exclaims, which gains him a round of laughter from the two. Harry’s not too keen on the fact that everyone is having a laugh at his expense. He figures they deserve it though after being subjected to a whole night of Niall’s sex sounds.

 

“Yes mate.”

 

* * * * *

 

If it wasn’t glaringly obvious to Louis before that Harry wants to fuck him, it definitely is now. Thankfully they’d both figured that out the second they met and now all that was out in the open. So Harry was freely relishing in how Louis’ cheeks hollowed as he sucked on his straw, draining the mermaid embossed cup of caramel frappuccino.

 

Harry whines as Louis licks whipped cream off his upper lip. Harry can still see some white flecks in the hairs above his lip and he wants to swipe his tongue across the area and just get a taste of Louis. The whipped cream would only be half as sweet as the taste of Louis’ pink little mouth.

 

“Don’t do that with your mouth if you don’t have any intentions of sucking me off. It’s just cruel.”

“I know how little you condone animal cruelty.” Louis teases. Harry lets out a humourless laugh at the comment. “Besides the day I suck you off would be the best day of your life and the last day of mine.” Louis concludes, grinning mockingly.

 

“Mmm, fancy dying anytime soon?” Harry asks casually, dragging the stirring stick in his coffee and Synth mix, watching how the mixture ripples behind the green plastic.

 

“Only if it means I’ll be away from you.” Louis scoffs.

 

“Funny you say that yet you had no problem staying up until the ungodly hours of the night with me.” Harry rolls his eyes and takes a sip. “That’s none of my business though.”

 

“Technically it was the morning you moron, and if you quote another meme at me I’ll get up and leave.” Louis threatens.

 

“You compared me to Pepe the frog for at least an hour, don’t you dare chastise me for memes.”

 

“Maybe if you didn’t stick your tongue out before you took a bite of food I wouldn’t call you a frog.” Louis retorts and shrugs. He’s stabbing at ice cubes with his straw, and Harry lets out a chuckle.

 

“What?” Louis asks, his eyes meet Harry’s and Harry’s stomach doesn’t clench in response. It definitely doesn’t. His body has _never_ reacted to Louis’ attention. Don’t be ridiculous.

 

When Louis peers at Harry through his lashes, Harry wants to just scream “ _WHY WON’T YOU LET ME MAKE YOU COME??”_ He knows he’s good at it is the thing. He knows Louis would love it. Everyone has. Then again Louis is much smarter than anyone he’s been with before. It’s probably for the best he decides not to sleep with Harry.

 

“You were complaining about the cold and you’re drinking a frappuccino.”

 

“And?” Louis prods.

 

“You’re kind of a walking contradiction.” _In more ways than one_ , Harry wants to say. He wants to say how Louis’ sharp cheekbones and ankles contrast greatly with the gently sloping softness of his hips and thighs. He would mention his bum again but Louis’ berated him enough for staring at it mercilessly on the walk to Starbucks.

 

“Says the vampire frat boy who should be a wild party animal but instead texts boys emojis at all hours of the night.” Louis chortles. Harry squints at him.

 

“I thought it was technically morning?” Harry arches a brow and smirks. They seem to do that a lot to one another. Sarcastic banter never falling short between the new friends. If they could be called that exactly. How much should one friend want to fuck another?

 

“Anyways, if you remember, we actually met at a party. We both were quite drunk. I _am_ a party animal.”

 

“You were sat on a couch and Zayn had to get you to talk to me. Not exactly animalistic behaviour Harry.” Louis announces. He’s somehow managed to get an ice cube to sit at the end of his straw and he pulls it out of the cup. He pops the ice in his mouth and bites down on it, Harry cringes at the sound.

 

Harry wants to ask why Louis told Zayn to come up to him in the first place. He wants to ask why Louis wanted to talk to him. Harry wants to ask if Louis’ read his poems and if he knows who he is because he hasn’t yet reacted oddly to the people whispering about him as they walk past, or the call of “ _Styles!_ ” every time he gets his Starbucks order. Harry wants to ask if Louis calls him Styles because of his pseudonym or because he’s just heard everyone else call him that. Harry wants to ask why Louis stopped calling him Styles. Harry wants to ask what Louis is doing talking to someone like him.

 

He doesn’t though.

 

What he does say is, “How can you chew on ice? That’s a horrid sound.”

 

“You drink blood for a living, please don’t judge me food habits.” Is Louis’ reply.

 

Harry just jokes that he doesn’t drink blood for a _living_ although, are there jobs in drinking blood? And it’d be lovely if he could get paid for doing so.

 

Harry doesn’t mention that the night they first met that Louis called him hot and looked at him like he had fire in his eyes and Harry could put out the flame. Harry doesn’t bring it up because he doesn’t remember it either.

 

* * * * *

 

Niall’s pasty white arse wasn’t exactly on the top of the list of things Harry wanted to see when he walked back into the Gamma house. Yet, there it was, out on display for the world to see.

 

It’s made even more scarring when Harry realises the reason he’s seeing Niall’s bum is because he’s giving it to Zayn from behind. On the couch. In their lounge.

 

He wants to gouge his own eyes out. He wants to google how to purposefully forget things.

 

Instead he just yells, “NIALL. SHIT, JESUS, YOU HAVE A BEDROOM.” and throws a tennis ball from the floor at the Irishman’s equally pale back and covers his eyes. Also, seriously, _when_ did they get a tennis ball?

 

“Fuck. Fuck.” Niall pants out, pulling out of Zayn and starting to turn towards Harry who loudly protests against that.

 

“I have no need to see your micropenis at the moment or the face of a man who is seconds from coming.” Harry shouts, still shielding his eyes. At the mention of the word _micropenis_ Zayn makes a noise that sounds like a scoff. “I just request that next time, please, please, go into your room. What’s wrong with your bed? You break it or something?” Harry jokes, and turns away to allow Niall and Zayn to make themselves decent. He highly doubts they plan on doing so when Niall just coughs and Zayn bites back a giggle.

 

“I ordered a new one. Overnight shipping from Amazon.” Niall mumbles and Zayn is straight out roaring in laughter at this point.

 

“Jesus fucking Christ Niall.” Harry groans and makes his way up the stairs. He pretends he doesn’t hear Niall sucking kisses onto Zayn’s throat. Harry pops in his headphones and blasts The Rolling Stones to drown out the slapping sound of flesh and not-so-muffled orgasms.

 

He types out a text, not bothering to read it back. He stopped doing that at some point between sending the eyeball emoji fifteen times when Louis said he was going to take a shower and when he sent three consecutive photos of his cat back in Cheshire wearing a magician's outfit, captioning it “when the pussy is magical.”

 

**Fancy coming ‘round and cleaning your mates come off my couch? :))) x**

 

The response is immediate and Harry’s stomach flutters at the thought that Louis may have been waiting for his text. He knows he’s being ridiculous considering they’d only parted ways about twenty minutes ago and there’s no way Louis Tomlinson can be bothered to wait for a text from Harry.

 

**_fancy getting your mate out of mine so he can come back to the dorm and i can actually spend time with someone that isn’t u ?_ **

 

**You love spending time with me. x**

 

The text was risky. Harry hasn’t thought much about what he’s said to Louis lately, feeling like they’ve somehow put their friendship on fast forward, skipping past all the awkward formalities and jumping straight into making fun of one another and Louis shutting down Harry’s attempts at flirting. Every time. Without fail.

 

**_u know i hate u ._ **

 

Right. That’s kind of what Harry had been expecting.

 

**_may sound weird considering we just said bye but are u hungry ?_ **

 

Harry raises a brow but before he even has a chance to reply, Louis sends another message.

 

**_sorry . forgot u don’t eat normal food . :P wanna come to lunch anyway ? u owe me . ur roommate is the reason i can’t go with mine ._ **

 

Harry makes a squeal in the back of his throat that he seems to have no control over. He clears his throat and types out a response.

 

**Maybe Zayn’s fucking Niall just so you have no one to hang out with besides me. x**

 

**_zayn doesn’t hate me enough to do that to me ._ **

 

* * * * *

 

The diner Louis chooses is small, and oddly too similar to the one in Grease. A coincidence that doesn’t seem to be that coincidental based on the smile adorning Louis’ face.

 

“You gonna break into song anytime soon or do _I_ have to start ‘Summer Love’?” Harry clears his throat and opens his mouth like he’s about to sing.

 

“You definitely _are_ Sandy between the two of us.” Louis speaks half-heartedly. They’re sectioned off in a rounded booth so instead of being across from one another as usual, they’re actually sitting quite close.

 

Harry can smell Louis’ cologne and the blood thrumming beneath his pulse on his neck. He hasn’t eaten much today okay? Synthetic blood only does so much, and vampires have to drink it at least once a day which is a pain if Harry’s being honest. Probably less painful than killing humans or animals to drink, which tides them over for a about a week or two. It’s also hard finding a human that’s going to let you drink from them, no matter how much you promise it won’t kill them or turn them because there _is_ a different way to do all of the above. It usually isn’t convincing. Plus Harry hasn’t had that level of trust with someone who wasn’t a vampire in a long time.

 

“No way. I’m Danny. I’m way more rugged.” Harry furrows his brows and gives Louis a pout.

 

Louis responds with a chuckle and a shake of his head. He holds up a finger and starts tapping away at his phone. Harry leans over into Louis’ space trying to peek at his iPhone screen. Louis leans back, hiding his phone from Harry in a fit of giggles.

 

“You know if you didn’t want anyone to see what you look up on your phone you probably shouldn’t have gotten the most massive one. The astronauts can totally see you googling porn with that thing.” Harry jokes and Louis’ giggles intensify.

 

“Shut up and look at this.” Louis says between his squeaky sounds. He’s holding his phone out towards Harry now who sees… [ something ](http://vignette2.wikia.nocookie.net/onedirection/images/8/88/Frenchie_and_Danny.jpg/revision/latest?cb=20121130014850) . It’s blurry but it’s definitely a boy on a stage, fringe too long to see through probably, he’s in a leather jacket and it all seems quite normal until Harry starts looking at his legs and–– _oh my God it’s Louis._

 

“Is that you? Why are you dressed like Danny Zuko before he put his hair grease in?” Harry laughs.

 

“Twat, I _was_ Danny Zuko. I did Grease in secondary school, I just didn’t do me hair up.” Louis slaps Harry’s arm lightly, Harry feels electricity between their skin. He wonders if Louis felt it too because he pulls back immediately. “Why are you in a vest anyways?” Louis grumbles and rubs his hand, as if he’d actually hurt it by hitting Harry.

 

Harry looks down at his white vest top as if he needs to check what he's wearing again. He'd changed into it before leaving the house, deciding that he gets too warm in restaurants. It said [ City of Hamilton ](http://data2.whicdn.com/images/55882745/tumblr_mh7qkefFUa1r0x2fdo1_1280_large.jpg) on it and Harry looked good as fuck in it. Yet another reason why he changed into it.

 

“It’s not cold in here.” Harry shrugs, and he watches Louis try and be subtle as he follows the movements of Harry’s shoulders. “Why’d you ask? You like?” Harry asks, wiggling his eyebrows furiously. Louis bursts out laughing, another round of squeaking that Harry can barely handle.

 

“If you don’t stop doing that ridiculous thing with your eyebrows no one will like.” Louis cries out, tears streaking down his cheeks and Harry wants to taste them. Is that sadistic? Louis wipes the droplets away with the sleeves of his black [ Adidas jumper ](https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/236x/c4/dc/a1/c4dca1659ed9e72b8c6adf1127a139d2.jpg), which flop down over his palms like little paws. Harry wants to see how much smaller Louis’ hand is than his own. He pretends he doesn’t, for his own good.

 

“I’ll just seduce them with my vampire charm and my sexy arms.” Harry flexes once and pretends not to notice Louis’ eyes widen at the bulge of his biceps. His tattoos swell with the motion, the black stretching further across his skin.

 

“Oh shut up, you do talk some shit.” Louis rolls his eyes, his voice exasperated, as if he can’t believe how conceited Harry can be.

 

He mulls over the menu, flipping it around a few times before settling on a burger and announcing that to Harry. During this exchange Harry watches Louis’ hands, small and quick as they move across the menu to keep his place. He wonders how perfectly his index finger and thumb would wrap around the tattoos on Louis’ wrists. He watches Louis tuck his fringe back with two fingers, so opposite to the way Harry drags his hand through his own fringe, combing it back with his entire palm. Louis is delicate in his motions, everything done precisely and accurately. It’s utterly entrancing.

 

“I submitted a poem to [ Granta ](http://granta.com/) when I was drunk apparently.” Harry says finally, nonchalantly as he stirs at the vanilla milkshake in front of him. He tries to act like it’s not a big deal, but it really, really is.

 

* * * * *

 

_Harry put his pen down like it was on fire. He was unable to sleep, still drunk from the party, and contact high from being next to Louis. His only thought was that he had to sit down. He had to write._

 

_He didn’t even re-read the poem before he typed it into his laptop with extra care. He made sure all the red squiggly lines underneath his words were gone and everything was perfect._

 

_The Granta submission wasn’t hard to do whilst drunk, thanks to the autofill feature on his computer, typing in the letter “H” filled out the rest of the form. He’d been planning on submitting to Granta for a while, but was always too afraid of anything he’s written not being good enough. Christ, he has a book of his poems published for fucks sake and he’s still too nervous to submit to a writing magazine. Granted his poetry book got published through Pendleton and only gets sold in their university bookstore, but it’s doing well and Harry’s considered submitting it out into the real, non-university world._

 

_He sent the submission out without a second thought and went straight to bed, falling asleep the second his head hit the pillow._

 

_It was the best sleep of his life._

 

* * * * *

 

“Wow, that’s amazing! I didn’t even know you wrote poems.” Louis’ voice drags Harry out of his attempt to remember what on earth he actually submitted to the prestigious magazine.

 

Granta is a big deal and Harry hasn’t mustered up the courage to click on his sent email and just read the poem. He only just found out he submitted to them this morning when he checked his emails and saw the automated response to confirm they had received the submission. If he could shit his pants, he would’ve.

 

“Huh,” Harry muses, taking another careful sip of his milkshake and winks at Louis when he watches Harry’s cheeks hollow around the straw. Louis rolls his eyes but his face reddens from being caught. “Weird. That’s the one thing everyone seems to know about me.”

 

“What do you mean?” Louis coughs and settles down the menu he’d been toying with. His fingers are bending the edges of the plastic laminate.

 

“I mean like… that’s the thing I’m known for. Harry Styles, party loving frat boy by day, brooding tortured poet by night. It’s my thing.” Harry shrugs, searching for the straw of his milkshake using his tongue, he refuses to relinquish eye contact with Louis but this just succeeds in making him look like an idiot as his tongue hunts for the straw around his cup. The muscle peeking around his fangs until it finally finds the straw. Louis’ laughing into his palms when the waitress comes back, asking for their orders.

 

“Bacon cheeseburger, medium rare… and some chips please.” He announces, a slight giggle in his throat still and his eyes squinting from laughter. “Harold?”

 

_Harold?_

 

“Nothing for me thanks.” Harry replies. The waitress scribbles down the order and bounces away, her candy striped uniform disappearing around the corner. “Harold?”

 

“Isn’t Harry short for Harold?” Louis questions. Harry shakes his head and Louis goes “huh” then shrugs. “I’m still gonna call you Harold. Anyways _Harold,_ or shall I say Shakespeare, how come I’ve never read any of your work since you seem to be so popular?” His voice is teasing but sharp, he holds out his fork like a microphone, faux interviewing Harry.

 

Harry pushes the fork away and calls Louis a geek before chuckling, showcasing his mile deep dimples that seem to captivate Louis. So much so that he sticks his fingers straight into them.

 

“Cheeky.”

 

“Literally.” Harry laughs, gaining himself another Louis Tomlinson Eyeroll (patent pending).

 

“Anyways,” he mocks Louis’ tone, “if you’ve ever read the school paper I’m in like every issue of that. Professors put my work in there all the time, sometimes without even asking first if it’s okay. They figure if I hand it in as an assignment in poetry class it’s basically theirs to submit to the paper.”

 

It’s not a lie. Harry’s surname adorns every issue of the Pendleton’s weekly paper. At first it surprised Harry that so many people actually read the thing, it’s a _newspaper_ for crying out loud, but then he discovered that there’s an online version which made a bit more sense.

 

Louis’ eyebrows are raised and he almost looks impressed. Harry’s waiting to hear Louis admit to having read his work actually, or even praising him on doing well as everyone usually does. Part of Harry is waiting for his first ever compliment from the lad when instead Louis goes,

 

“Someone’s a bit cocky eh?” Louis croons, dragging his finger across the condensation on his pint of beer.

 

“Nah it's just…” Harry begins, fingers seeking the loose curls underneath the brim of his forest green beanie. “It's cool yeah? Having people really like your work.” And it is cool, Harry likes when people come up to him and say that his poems opened their eyes, or that they love how open he is about the fact that he's had sex with both men and women alike.

 

Being known for his sex life isn't exactly cool but he did kind of bring it upon himself so he doesn't complain. It pays the bills regardless.

 

“No I understand what you mean…” Louis begins, voice breathy, almost passive aggressive and Harry's about to question his tone until he coughs out the word “cocky.”

 

“I am not cocky!” Harry whines. Except he kind of is sometimes. He wants to joke that the only place he’s truly cocky is in his jeans but reckons that’s probably a bad way of getting Louis to laugh and is probably more effective in getting him to walk out of the diner.

 

“Hottie frat boy Styles writes a few metaphors without spelling anything wrong and it’s like, ‘ _wow!_ Brains and beauty can coexist!’” Louis snorts. Harry might even say Louis sounds a bit jealous if he didn’t know that Louis would quicker cut his hands off and bash him across the jaw with the severed limbs before ever admitting to being jealous of him.

 

“So you think I’m hot?”

 

“Jesus Styles it’s like we can’t have a civil conversation without you having to make it about me mentally sucking you off.” Louis groans. His settles his hands over his face, fingers gripping at his fringe.

 

“Okay number one, you making fun of me isn’t a civil conversation, and second off, do you suck off every boy you find hot?” Harry jokes, poking his tongue out through his lips.

 

“Oi, shut it Styles.” Louis warns, pointing a finger in his direction. Harry would usually pretend to bite at it, instead something in his stomach isn’t sitting quite right.

 

“Don’t like when you call me that.” He mumbles, eyebrows furrowed. Harry’s deliberately not making eye contact with Louis, finding his half finished milkshake much more interesting.

 

“Everyone calls you Styles though?” It shouldn’t be a question except it is, because although it’s true Louis seems confused as to why this is suddenly an issue.

 

“You don’t though. You call me Harry.” Harry huffs before folding an arm across his abdomen. “It’s nice I dunno.” His voice trails off and he musters up the courage to look up at Louis. The evil grin on his face is inappropriate for the unease Harry feels.

 

“I’ll call you Harry when you stop trying to seduce me and start being me friend.” Louis wagers.

 

“I am trying to be your friend!” Harry’s voice is drenched in exasperation, “I tell you about my poems and you act like I think I'm some hotshot who got published because of my looks.” Harry can handle many things but he won’t deal with being told that he’s gotten everywhere because of his looks. Granted he has gotten _some_ places because of his looks, but writing is something he takes seriously, something he takes pride in. Writing is something he can happily say has everything to do with talent and nothing to do with the way the light falls on him.

 

Louis seems to mull over Harry’s response. He opens his mouth to speak and Harry knows he’s not going to get an apology out of Louis because he’s a stubborn child masquerading as a twenty two year old man.

 

“Well hotshot, you definitely can’t be _that_ hot, it’s bloody freezing out...don’t you get cold?” It’s the closest Harry will get to an apology, a change of topic. Louis’ shivering again and Harry wants to make a comment about how it’s because Louis’ been drinking frozen beers since they set foot in the establishment.

 

Harry bites his tongue a lot around Louis. He idly wonders if it’s because he’s afraid of what Louis will think of him if he speaks his mind; if he’s honest. Louis would probably find it preposterous to ever hide feelings. He’s been open and honest–– if not _brutally_ so–– since day one of their friendship.

 

“Are we talking about the weather again?” Harry sighs, shaking his head dramatically. “I thought we were past that level of friendship where we have to make small talk about arbitrary things like that.”

 

“Is that what we are?” Louis hums, a smile spreading across his cheeks. It’s a mousy thing and Harry wants to feel the way his lips stretch into the grin with his thumbs. He wants to run his finger down the crinkles by Louis’ eyes. Instead he busies his hands with creating a tiny braid starting at his temple.

 

“You just said we should be friends.” Harry mumbles, distracted as he tries to look from the corner of his eye where he’s twisting strand over strand of hair into a small plait.

 

“Harry you have this amazing tendency to just never answer me questions and just completely divert the conversation. It’s a talent really.” Louis jeers, taking a long swig of his beer.

 

“It’s in the name of banter.”

  
“Harry.” Louis scolds.

 

“No never. I don’t get cold.” Harry cracks in his attempt to not answer any real questions Louis asks, purely to rile him up. “It takes a lot to get me cold.”

 

“Never? Not even like… before?” Louis asks, tilting his head in confusion. Harry tilts his head to match, which earns him another cheeky grin from Louis. He loves Louis’ smile, but adds that onto the list of things he’ll never admit to the boy.

 

“Before yeah, like… sometimes.” Harry’s fighting to remember what it was like before he turned. It was over a year ago that he felt cold since he’d turned in the summer. “I don’t really remember what it’s like to be honest? Is that bad? I kind of miss knowing what it’s like to be cold.” Harry muses.

 

He thinks about how it’s similar to when it’s summer and it’s burning hot out, how you’re just begging for the winter because you’d take anything over the heat, even though you’ve basically forgotten what it’s like to be proper cold until the winter rolls around just a few months later. Same goes for when it’s cold out and you need the heat, because you’ve forgotten how hot summer really is. He actually voices this to Louis.

 

“Being cold isn’t a good feeling. I’m cold all the time.” Louis hums in response to Harry’s string of thoughts. As if to punctuate his sentence, he shivers.

 

“I guess we could never cuddle then,” Harry pouts dramatically, “I give off little to no body heat.”

 

Louis raises a brow, “Who said anything about cuddling?”

 

“I promised I’d pound into your bum.” _SHUT UP HARRY!_ His mind screams back at him. “Don’t you think that warrants to some quality cuddle time afterwards?” Harry jests, and _ah, yes, there’s_ the crude vulgar Harry that had disappeared for a while. Welcome back.

 

“You know I didn’t ever agree to me bum being pounded into as you so eloquently put it.” Louis retorts, putting a finger on his chin and looking off to the side, as if he’s trying to remember consenting to the bumming that Harry keeps bringing up.

 

“You don’t fancy having a cuddle afterwards by the fire?” Harry coos, fluttering his lashes at the boy parallel to him.

 

“You trying to date me Styles?” Louis quirks a brow and leans forward across their table to meet Harry’s eyes. He’s so close Harry could kiss him if he wanted to. He does want to. He doesn’t kiss him though.

 

“Are you trying to tell me you don’t want to cuddle?” Harry asks, leaning in closer to Louis. Jesus he can taste Louis’ breath on his tongue. He can smell the alcohol coming off of Louis’ lips in waves.

 

“You didn’t answer me question.” Louis breathes. There’s mere inches between them now, Louis’ eyes are half-lidded and he looks too tipsy for a school night. Just a few inches closer and they’d be snogging. Harry wants to, more than anything he wants to.

 

“I couldn’t date you, you’re such a pain. Also you’d get old and die and I’d be 19 for the rest of our lives.” Harry says instead, backing away and crossing his arms over his chest, biceps bulging with the movement. _Why?_ Is the only thing he can think. _Why_ did he have to say that? Because Louis just blinks back at him, dumbfounded.

 

“Wow, be fucking morbid why don’t you?” He snaps and the mood is gone. Their air of _almost_ broken completely.

 

“Sorry it’s the truth?” Harry shrugs, eyebrows knitting together. He knows it’s morbid but hey, Louis asked. What was Harry meant to say? _Yes Louis, I’d date you. I want to make you come repeatedly so that must mean I have a thing for you yeah?_ No. Because it doesn’t mean that, because Harry refuses to get attached to anyone he wants to fuck.

 

“God, you really _don’t_ have a heart.” Louis abhors. He’s standing now, slinging his bag over his shoulder.

 

“Living dead baby.” Harry replies, raising his arms in the air in a half-shrug. And what the fuck. Just _what the fuck Harry?_

 

Louis leaves in a whirlwind and Harry’s just sitting wondering what happened. Why did Louis just get so upset over a simple statement? It wasn’t exactly an insult. Maybe it was a bit of a harsh way to state the bleakness of mortality and immortality but… it wasn’t dishonest.

 

When Louis’ food arrives the table is empty, and Harry’s left twenty quid on the table.

 

* * * * *

 

**January 29th**

 

Harry hasn’t gotten any sleep.

 

It’s not because he doesn’t have to or because he chose to stay up all night. It’s because he was lying in bed all night _trying_ to sleep just so he could ignore the clenching in his gut reminding him that Louis isn’t speaking to him.

 

Louis has ignored all of Harry’s texts the whole night and Harry’s been to two classes today without any contact. They usually text during or between lectures, and sometimes run into each other in the halls. _Usually, Christ, I’ve only been friends with the guy for two days and I’m already this dependent._ Harry scolds himself mentally. This is why he doesn’t date, because his friend of two days doesn’t text back and he’s already beating himself up over it. Imagine if Louis were his boyfriend?

 

 _God, imagine_. The knot in Harry’s gut tightens at the images of him and Louis holding hands or kissing that his brain conjures up. He can’t want that. He isn’t allowed to want that. Because as far as he’s concerned Louis is mad at him for saying that death is inevitable and also that he’s annoying. Really Harry doesn’t think what he’s said is a big deal, but maybe Louis is one of those types who really doesn’t like to think about their own mortality.

 

* * * * *

 

Harry’s definitely gone mental. It’s quite obvious really in the way he’s drafting a text to someone he’s sure hates him even more than Louis does right now. You’d figure since Zayn and Niall are fucking, Zayn would be a bit more keen on Harry. That doesn’t seem to be the case. Not in the slightest.

 

Harry’s desperate though, so he lets his thumbs fly across his screen without any second thoughts. He presses send before he has a chance to realise what a terrible idea it is to contact the best friend of the man who is incredibly pissed at you.

 

**Hey Zayn, I was just wondering where Louis is? x**

 

It’s simple, and it doesn’t give away that Louis isn’t speaking to him (although he’s pretty sure Zayn knows by now). The response is almost immediate which seems like a good sign, like maybe it’s a quick one word reply about Louis’ whereabouts. Harry can’t help but feel a little hopeful as he rapidly unlocks his phone to read Zayn’s text.

 

**_none of that “x” bullshit, he doesn’t want to see u count dickula._ **

 

Well that was useless.  

 

* * * * *

 

Harry’s standing outside of his last class of the day after he’s finished, waiting for his chance to spring.

 

Zayn ignores Harry just like expected, walking past him far too quickly to look casual, but the tall curly haired vampire is nothing if not persistent. He holds down the front of his black snapback (which is technically the back since he wears it backwards), and rushes towards Zayn, the soles of his brown boots slapping against the tile in the halls, [ red flannel ](http://pbs.twimg.com/media/BHqqqFECUAI17M_.jpg) flowing behind him like a cape.

 

“Zayn. _Zayn._ ” Harry calls out, eventually catching up. He reaches out to clasp his palm on Zayn’s shoulder when the boy whips around and catches his hand in a viselike grip.

 

“Don’t. Touch me.” Zayn hisses, squeezing down around Harry’s palm. His teeth are bared, almost at full length and Harry shudders remembering what Louis said.

 

“ _Zayn’s in a vampire frat and I don’t think I’ve seen his fangs once… Never seen his teeth once._ ”

 

Never.

 

“Mate look––” Harry starts, voice quivering before Zayn hisses again.

 

“I’m not your fucking mate.” He practically snarls the words to Harry, who shakes his head as if to correct himself. Zayn shouldn’t be threatening being as short as he is but the leather jacket, perfect quiff, combined with the scent of stale cigarettes and his beat up Dr. Martens give off the vibe that he’ll rip your head off. Harry likes his head on his shoulders where it belongs, thanks.   
  
“Right, no. Yeah.” Harry stumbles over his words, Zayn is clenching his jaw so tight Harry is scared he’ll break his teeth. For someone Niall describes as passionate and sweet, Zayn is one terrifying motherfucker. Probably just adds onto the list of reasons Niall likes him, he can do all the dirty work so Niall won’t ever have to be mean.

 

“Louis’ mad at you. It’s not my fucking business. But if I were you, I’d stop being such a dickhead to the only person who can seemingly tolerate you for whatever reason, and just go fucking apologise.” Zayn barks back at Harry before he even gets a chance to ask Zayn what’s wrong. “I shouldn’t even be helping you. He is proper pissed at you mate.”

 

“Thought we weren’t mates.” Harry tries to be lighthearted. Zayn releases his grip on Harry’s wrist and pushes a finger into the white fabric covering his chest.

 

“Don’t. Push. Me. _Mate._ ” He grumbles and walks off, leaving the scent of cigarette smoke and musky cologne behind.

 

Harry’s left standing in the hall wondering what the fuck just happened and why Zayn has decided to help him out with Louis for the third time this week, when he decidedly doesn’t like Harry in the slightest.

 

* * * * *

 

The one flaw in Harry’s plan to find Louis is that he has no idea what the lad’s schedule consists of. The only thing he knows is that Louis takes science because one time he complained that “ _science homework suxxxx :(_ “ over text but that’s not exactly helpful information.

 

Harry’s aimlessly wandering in the science building, a twisting, labyrinthian thing. It’s useless looking for Louis here because he has no idea what science class he takes, or at what time he has it, or even he even has it today. He sighs once in defeat and leans against the wall, ignoring the looks from a gaggle of vampire girls who strut past, ogling him like prey. Harry gives a feeble smile to the ladies who giggle into their palms and mumble “it's _Styles,_ I can't believe it's bloody Styles.”

 

Being “Styles” doesn't seem like such a privilege suddenly without Louis there to make sure he doesn’t get a big head about it. Harry chews the inside of his cheek and sighs loudly. He sighs a second time, louder now. He wants to sigh all the unnecessary air out of his lungs, he doesn’t even fucking need it. He’s literally a waste of air.

 

The walk back to Gamma house is cold.

 

Harry’s shivering although he has a flannel over his vest and it’s slightly warmer than it was yesterday. But Harry is cold. For the first time since he turned he’s actually trembling.

 

* * * * *

 

When Harry gets the Granta acceptance he doesn’t even care. The only person he wants to tell isn’t speaking to him.

 

* * * * *

 

Harry’s on phone call number seven when he realises Louis’ screening his calls. This time, Louis doesn’t even wait for the ringing to end, he just sends it to voicemail after two rings. Harry doesn’t exactly blame him. It must be annoying having his phone vibrate constantly, especially when it’s from someone as stupid as Harry.

 

He was content in pretending that maybe Louis was just away from his phone. Maybe he was in class, or went to shower, but now he was all too aware that Louis was seeing Harry’s name light up his phone, and deliberately ignoring his calls.

 

 _“Just go fucking apologise._ ” Zayn’s voice was ringing in Harry’s ears repeatedly.

 

_Just go. Go._

 

So Harry goes. He heads off towards Louis’ dorm, or at least he thinks it’s the dorm as it’s the building he’s walked the boy to in the last few days. It’s only a few meters away from the frat house but Harry is still shivering in his boots, teeth chattering in the brisk January air. It’s only about six in the afternoon but it’s dark out and Harry can feel the sense of foreboding hanging heavy in the air.

 

The campus seems emptier than usual; the green not littered with bodies strewn across, smoking and pretending to revise. Harry knows it’s probably just because it’s late, but part of him feels like the whole world is mad at him. Like everyone just upped and decided to isolate themselves from the “virtuous” Styles.

 

He finds himself in front of Louis’ building realising he’s got no idea what Louis’ even upset about, or what to say, or how to bloody get in without a resident key.

 

So he waits.

 

* * * * *

 

He’d check the time on his phone but it died an hour ago whilst he was playing Scrabble waiting for Louis. Besides, the nap he’s taking with his head leaned up against the railing of the front steps of the building seems much more significant at the moment.

 

The heavy sigh followed by a mumble of “Jesus” is what drags Harry out of his half-slumber.

 

“Lou?” Harry’s voice is hoarse and he can see the boy, rosy cheeks and windswept fringe blown back onto his knit grey beanie. His vision is still blurry from sleep but he can see the clouds of breath coming from Louis’ quivering lips as he unlocks the door to the resident hall.

 

“Yeah, ’s me,” He grumbles, voice low and filled with annoyance but Harry can hear a hint of something else, exhaustion maybe, as he speaks again, “c’mon, get inside Count Dickula.”

 

Harry follows Louis up the stairs of the building into the hall in silence, rubbing at the corner of his eye with the first knuckle of his finger. He tries to ignore the way Louis’ bum moves in the [ joggers ](http://36.media.tumblr.com/16e5903e63bc4598b1f846c7a9f02469/tumblr_o17ei0wcIY1rsfc5fo1_500.png) and somewhat succeeds probably only because he’s too emotionally worn out to think about bumming him now. Only kind of. He’s still thinking about it just a little bit.

 

“I’m sorry Lou.” He rasps out quietly and although he isn’t sure for what exactly, his chest is swelling at the idea of Louis being mad at him.

 

Louis looks knackered, eyes half-lidded and lips chapped from the cold. His small hands are curled into fists at his sides, clutching his keys and Harry can see the tips of them are blue. In his still sleep enamored mind, he wants to kiss his fingertips, wants to suck the ends of them into his mouth until they’re red with heat and Louis’ happy again. Happy and maybe a little bit naked. Harry thinks he’s always going to wish Louis was a little bit more naked than he is.

 

“S’okay.” Louis replies, northern accent heavy on his tongue. It sounds like he’d just come from Yorkshire instead of having lived away from home at university for a few a years. Maybe he’d recently called home. Harry knows his Cheshire accent always sprung up a bit thicker whenever he spoke to his mum or sister for over an hour.

 

“You’re mad at me.” Harry whines suddenly, and the sound surprises even him.

 

Harry assumes they’re at Louis’ door now, because Louis’ stood in front with his arms crossed and an eyebrow cocked, and he looks like he’s not about to let Harry in. Harry really wants to be let in.

 

“Good use of your brain Sherlock.” Louis scoffs, the anger pooling into his words finally. Maybe that’s what Harry wanted. It’s definitely more of what he expected from the conversation. Louis’ anger. He won’t admit it, but he’s missed Louis’ sass and quick tongue. He missed how Louis’ always ready to fire back at him. Louis was a challenge, and Harry missed him even after one day. Hardly. Sixteen hours, but who was counting?

 

“Why are you mad at me?” Harry questions. Louis rolls his eyes and turns around, unlocking the door in one swift motion and Harry is mesmerised by the way Louis’ hands fly up to twist the knob.

 

“Never mind, I take it back.” Louis hisses. “You’re an idiot.” Harry watches his hunched shoulders underneath the black A[ didas jumper ](http://41.media.tumblr.com/63682b512e009656a628aa176152aa71/tumblr_o17b5nrwZP1ulisyuo1_500.jpg) that was definitely not keeping him warm enough. Harry wants to wrap his hands around Louis’ shoulders and warm him up, he wants to fold Louis into his arms and give him any heat his dead body will allow. Louis’ already toeing off his Vans before he’s even opened the door, his [ striped sock ](http://40.media.tumblr.com/ac0bcdc8840ec8585aa01142e5b45245/tumblr_o17eybxIU61tlt2oro8_1280.jpg) covered feet tap against the floor impatiently.

 

“Is it ‘cos I said you’re gonna die?” Harry’s voice is quick, like he’s scared Louis is just going to slip into his dorm and avoid him again. Maybe bringing up the topic that upset Louis in the first place isn’t the number one way to prevent that; but then again Harry’s not really that great and keeping Louis content.

 

“No it’s not––” Louis starts, inhaling deeply and shakily, “It’s not that… exactly.” He tries, scrubbing his palms over his face and pinching the bridge of his nose.

 

“I mean you should’ve probably accepted that by now you know? Because I mean––” Harry begins and he’s grateful for the palm Louis puts up to silence him.

 

“Just drop it Harry, yeah?” Louis sounds worn out. The way he rolls his shoulders back and cricks his neck makes Harry want to give him a massage. The exposed neck is a little tempting in animalistic ways Harry won’t admit but before he even gets a chance to reach out, Louis’ palm is already covering the skin, rubbing at the muscles underneath.

 

“Do you want to come inside?”

 

That’s how Harry ends up in Louis’ dorm, laid on his back on the boy’s bed with his button down strewn across the back of a chair and a neatly rolled spliff hanging between his lips.

 

Louis’ changed (out of Harry’s sight much to his dismay) into a grey t-shirt and he’s kicking a football around the room in his socked feet. He presented Harry the joint the second they walked in and asked if he smokes, to which Harry replied that he’s more of a drinker and Louis said “it’s probably because you _can’t_ die” with a pointed look to show that he _is_ over their “argument.” If you could call Louis getting mad over some unnamed reason an argument.

 

After Louis works up a sweat Harry’s bat-like nose can smell from across the room, he plops down next to Harry on the bed, subjecting him to the salty (yet delicious) odor.

 

“You know sitting next to a vampire who can smell your blood from across the room, with your heart rate soaring and your pulse racing is probably a bad idea.” Harry teases, elbowing Louis in what feels like slow motion. His laugh is lackadaisical, falling from his lips without him even trying.

 

“Lemme get a hit.” Louis prods Harry’s exposed side, and Harry feels his fingers long after they’re gone, searing holes into his skin, blackening his bones. Damn that’s good, he should write that down.

 

“Get it out of my mouth.” Harry laughs, the spliff caught between his teeth, and he pushes his lips into a pout.

 

“Besides the fact that I’d burn me mouth off if I tried… actually, I think that’d be the most pleasurable part of the experience if I’m bein’ honest.” Louis howls with laughter, snatching the joint from between Harry’s lips with his fingers. He sucks on the end greedily, cheeks hollowing with the motion and Harry is entranced. He makes a needy whine in the back of his throat which causes laughter to erupt from Louis, smoke pouring out of his mouth and nose.

 

“Kissing me is fun, everyone says so.” Harry pouts.

 

“Mmm, glad you ask for extensive reviews afterwards, I’m sure filling out the form with the five star rating isn’t awkward at all for all the participants.” Louis jokes and takes another hit. “Do you let them know before or after the initial making out that they’ll be taking a survey for quality assurance?”

 

“Before. For example,” Harry starts. Sitting up in bed proves to be a little difficult, the action laboured with the heaviness of his limbs. _Being stoned makes you heavy. Like rocks,_ Harry thinks. He isn’t going to write that one down. “Louis, I’m going to make out with you, afterwards you’re gonna tell me if I’m any good, yeah?”

 

The room is silent. Harry’s voice was too serious. He knows how it sounded; like a genuine offer. Maybe it’s because he’d never honestly asked Louis to kiss that he’s growing increasingly more nervous with every second that ticks by.

 

“Making out with you is literally me worst nightmare.” Louis responds, blowing out a steady stream of smoke through his pursed pink lips. Harry wants to scream into the pillow. No matter how high he is, nothing takes the edge off Louis when he’s rejecting Harry.

 

Thing is, they tease sometimes. Sometimes Louis plays along, flirts back a little. Never enough to ever claim to want Harry too, but just enough to show that he’s not completely disgusted with the situations Harry suggests. Not today though. Harry thinks their argument set them back in friendship yet again. Harry also thinks he shouldn’t want to fuck Louis as badly as he does, and maybe that’s also setting back their friendship a bit.

 

Louis crawls up the side of the bed to lay face to face with Harry. Whenever Louis’ intoxicated he allows himself to touch Harry more, allows his fingers to linger just for a fraction longer. Right now, they’re tracing the outlines of Harry’s tattoos.

 

“A heart, a boat, some nails…” Louis’ voice trails off as he announces Harry’s tattoos, mainly staying on his bicep. “The letter A, what’s the letter A?”

 

“Anne, my mum’s name.” Harry replies, eyes fluttering shut as he relishes in the feeling of Louis’ fingertips tracing the letter, his sensitivity heightening as Louis’ finger drags over to his collarbone. He doesn’t even have to see what tattoo Louis is tracing now, he knows which one it is the second Louis opens his mouth to say,

 

“That’s a stupid tattoo.”

 

“Mate you’ve got knots and crosses on your arm.” Harry rebuts, a cackle rising in his throat. Louis punches him which only causes Harry to laugh harder because, “You can’t punch a vampire you idiot. What are you trying to do? Lose your hand?”

 

“Fuck off, me tattoos are cool.” Louis snarls, cradling his hand which is presumably sore from attempting to punch Harry in the chest. “What’s seventeen black mean anyway?”

 

“James Bond. You know, he uses it whenever he has to break into a casino.” Harry informs Louis, opening one eye to watch the lad trace over the tattoo a few more times. He nudges Louis until he passes the spliff over. Harry takes another hit until it’s burnt down so low it’s singeing the tips of his fingers. He ashes the joint on a tea saucer on Louis’ desk behind them, twisting his body to reach it. The saucer is riddled with butts of other cigarettes and burnt roaches from previous joints.

 

“Do all your tattoos just have stupid deeper meanings?” Louis’ eyes are trailing up the expanse of Harry’s lean side as he lies back down on the bed. “Like do you just have a million tattoos with meanings like ‘Scooby Doo ate a cookie once so I got it inked on me skin forever’?” Louis guffaws, throwing a wrist over his eyes. Harry feels a buzzing in his jaw and he has an urge to just lick his lips repeatedly. He knew there was a reason he preferred drinking. It’s quite literally impossible to get cotton-mouth when getting drunk.

 

“Okay first of all,” Harry begins, his speech laboured as he tries to form coherent thoughts when all he can think about is how bad weed makes his mouth taste. “It’s a fucking iced gem tattoo, it’s for my sister because her name is Gemma.” He points at Louis, and they both bite back their giggles.

 

“Second of all!” He inhales sharply, causing a gust of air to tickle the burnt rawness at the back of his throat, sending Harry into a coughing fit, and Louis into a laughing one. Once all the sounds subside (except for a few squeaky giggles from Louis) Harry tries again, “second of all Tomlinson, don’t act like you aren’t the most avid Scooby Doo fan. I’ve seen that [ photo ](http://i.dailymail.co.uk/i/pix/2013/09/16/article-0-1BD96ED9000005DC-737_634x422.jpg) of you and Zayn in front of the Mystery Machine you put as your lock screen.”

 

“Stop looking at me phone!” Louis squeals, and sends a barrage of slaps to Harry’s midsection. Their laughter fills the air and Harry is gasping for breath as he traps Louis’ wrists in his hands. His cheeks hurt from laughing and Louis looks so peacefully blissed out with his eyes half closed and hair mussed up from rolling around the bed.

 

When Harry looks at Louis he feels like he’s sobering up. Louis’ cerulean eyes are like fog rolling on a lake, dulled and misty. His head weakly lolls from side to side in an attempt to prevent it from falling back completely. Harry can feel his pulse thrumming beneath his fingertips where they’re wrapped around Louis’ wrists, encircling his tattoos perfectly. He’s got his lower lip sucked into his mouth and his nose has the slightest bit of ash on it.

 

“You look pretty.” Harry mumbles accidentally.

 

He hadn’t meant to say it and he’s gearing up to apologise when Louis wriggles free, slaps his cheek and says, “You look ugly.” and turns away.

 

The silence is deafening after that. Harry watches the paintings on Zayn’s side of the room swirl and twist slightly with his high and feels Louis’ body go slack beside him. His own hands feel foreign as they drag across his thighs, trying to convince his limbs to move, to get up and leave. Harry chews his bottom lip and he’s searching for his flannel but everything looks like his flannel because he’s high and scared that he’s just pushed Louis even further away.

 

“Goodnight.” He whispers into the dark room once he’s thrown his shirt on. A response comes in a form of a whine too sweet to be true and Harry closes the dorm room door with a _click_.

 

The walk home is significantly warmer despite the actual temperature having dropped about ten degrees. Harry blames it on the drugs.

 

* * * * *

 

**January 30th**

 

Harry didn’t really get to eat much last night and the fact that they were out of Synth _again_ was really going to put Harry on edge the whole day. He hastily texted Louis, asking if he was interested in going to Starbucks definitely not because of their free synthetic blood.

 

**_thank u for asking because i was lost trying to figure out where to go . ziall decided to come back to the dorm and if i have to hear one more sexual innuendo i may actually go mad ._ **

 

So that’s how Harry ended up staring at the empty Synth container at the Starbucks, drink clutched so tight in his hand that the lid pops off, splashing burning liquid against the back of his hand.

 

“Alright Harry, c’mon. Let’s go sit.” Louis pulls him away from the milk and sugar counter, dragging him over to their usual seats by the window. He doesn’t usually touch Harry like this, leading him gently rather than shoving him amidst their banter. Louis’ arms are cradling textbooks and they thud onto the wooden tabletop.

 

“‘M hungry.” Harry mumbles, huffing out a hot breath as he slumps against the seat. He crosses his arms like a fussy toddler which gains him a chuckle from Louis. His fangs are poking at his tongue, trying to keep them busy so he can ignore the dull ache in his bones from the lack of blood in his system.

 

“How does turning work?” Louis speaks suddenly, shrugging out of his black denim jacket.

 

“Oh, are we talking again?” Harry raises a brow, squeezing his biceps where his hands fall on them. They hadn’t properly spoken since last night, not since Harry made that stupid comment and Louis fell asleep. They’d exchanged greetings when they met in front of the coffee shop, and just now, when Louis told him to relax, but that was it. A whopping total of under ten words between the two of them.

 

“Would you rather be making out?”

 

The words are strangely sensual and Harry can’t pretend he doesn’t get a little hard at the words that would’ve never left Louis’ mouth. Has he been abducted by aliens? Did Louis spike his own drink? Because if he’s sober then the blatant flirting makes no sense to Harry whatsoever.

 

“Yeah, you wanna?” Harry tries, praying that Louis’ flirting wasn’t just a short lived quip meant to tease Harry.

 

“How does turning work?” Louis repeats. His flirting was definitely just a short lived quip meant to tease Harry.

 

“A vampire sucks you dry.”

 

“Sounds pleasurable.” Louis smirks

 

“And then uses their venom to turn you.” Harry’s voice is deadpan but he can’t help but curl the corners of his lips into a smile.

 

“Less pleasurable.” Louis nods, blowing on the steaming lid of his tea before pursing his lips to take a sip.

 

“Decidedly so.”

 

Louis hums in response and Harry watches his throat, halfway cloaked by a scarf, bob as he gulps down the burning liquid. Louis is really good at drinking boiling hot tea. Harry is really good at watching Louis drink tea. Or do anything really.

 

“Does it hurt?” Louis questions, his biceps bulging as raises his arms to scratch his head. His triceps ripple as he tucks back a few pieces of his fringe. Harry watches his fingers with a burning in his throat.

“Not really, you just get sleepy.” He replies, voice definitely deeper and more raspy than usual. His pupils blown out as Louis unfurls his scarf from around his neck.

 

“How does drinking from someone work?” Louis asks, carding a hand through his hair and adjusting the hem of his t-shirt. It’s a truly unfair shirt. [ Sheer ](http://i.dailymail.co.uk/i/pix/2015/06/25/09/29F31C0700000578-3138691-All_black_Louis_emerged_from_the_club_wearing_a_simple_T_shirt_a-a-7_1435222020691.jpg) , with a low neckline and Harry can fucking _see_ his nipples and it’s driving him mad.

 

“You do the same thing,” Harry rasps, clearing his throat before continuing, “just minus the venom and you don’t suck them dry, just take a little bit.”

 

He coughs trying to clear his throat of the obvious attraction to Louis. The boy raises a brow and leans forward, his collarbones protruding even further with the motion. Harry makes an involuntary low whine in the back of his throat which causes Louis to laugh breathily, his rasp still rumbling in the sound. It’s the hottest thing Harry’s ever heard. He’s half hard in his jeans from Louis just _existing_ . This is some tragic shit. Like proper secondary school “ _boner because your teacher is fit and you have to stand up and put something on the board”_ tragic.

 

“Why doesn’t it kill them?” Louis leans his chin against his fist. Harry imagines Louis biting down on that fist to be quiet when he comes.

 

“If you stop drinking after like, a pint of blood it won’t kill anyone.” Harry shrugs, he stirs his plain coffee in distaste. His throat aching for the warm slide of blood nourishing him. He can sense Louis watching the way his fingers are too stiff holding the plastic stirring stick.

 

“Wouldn’t they bleed out though?” Louis’ voice is filled with genuine interest and his brows are scrunched in confusion. He leans forward and drops his voice just a note to ask “don’t you drink from the jugular?”

 

“I’ve never drank from a human before.” Harry shrugs. Louis’ eyes widen in astonishment and really, it shouldn’t be so surprising. “But yeah, we bite at the jugular.”

 

“You’ve never drank from a human before?” Louis sounds like the wind has been knocked out of his lungs. Eyes wide like saucers.

 

“You wouldn’t bleed out though because like… vampire saliva has a healing agent.” Harry misses the way Louis’ gaping like a fish, too busy trying to explain vampire biology. “Lick a person’s neck when you’re done feeding and it’ll heal up in a minute, it’s actually quite cool.” Harry rambles.

 

“You’ve never drank from a person.” It’s a statement this time, Louis’ eyes wide and brows raised in stupefaction.

 

“It’s kind of difficult getting a human to agree to let you feed off of them. They usually think you’ll kill them. Plus, Synth is a thing, and _usually_ we have loads so I don’t ever need to feed off of anyone.” Harry hisses at the mention of Synth, hunger rumbling through his body in waves.

 

“You hungry?” Louis sighs, arching a brow, a snarky grin plastered across his face.

 

“Incredibly.” Harry growls.  

 

“Does me neck entice you?” Louis drawls, lolling his head to the side, exposing his neck to Harry, jugular vein fluttering in a way that lets Harry know he’s nervous. He shouldn’t be, but then again, it’s a bit risky showing off your gorgeous neck to a hungry vampire.

 

“All of you entices me.” Harry’s voice is raspier than usual, darkened with lust and hunger. “Always.”

 

“Oh, _Harold_ .” Louis moans, a giggle follows the sound. He flutters his lashes in a way that’s supposed to be mockingly sexy but is _actually_ sexy.

 

Harry’s careful not to emit a sound that would ruin this moment. If he even _whimpers_ differently than how Louis is feeling, the air of flirtation and potential sex would be ruined. Not like it’s actually there to begin with. Harry’s probably just getting too turned on by the scent of blood and Louis’ musky natural scent. Or maybe it’s because Louis’ starting to lightly caress his own collarbone as he looks down at his textbook, vaguely attempting to revise. The motion sends swirls of Louis’ scent into the air in a way he’d never understand.

 

“Don’t.” Harry chokes out, watching Louis crook his neck towards Harry again. Another giggle escaping that throat Harry wants to bite.

 

Louis looks up at him then, his bright blue eyes making contact with Harry’s hunger-darkened green ones.

 

“I’m not going to get any work done in here, it’s freezing.” He announces, slamming his textbook shut. The sound startles Harry who blinks rapidly in succession in an attempt to gather what the _hell_ just happened. Moments ago Louis was unraveling himself, unfurling like a ribbon giving way for Harry to wrap around his little finger. Now he’s reserved again, wrapping his scarf around his neck and shrugging back into his coat.

 

“Maybe because you decided to get half naked in a Starbucks?” Harry sneers, punctuating the sentence with a loud slurp of his drink. “You gonna go home?”

 

Louis’ standing and the obvious difference in their positioning is flagrant. Louis wants to go, Harry’s got no intention of leaving. Except he will. If Louis leaves Harry’s walking him to his door.

 

“Not unless you wanna make use of all your offers to take me home and bring me back to the frat house.” Louis remarks. He should be joking, but Harry doesn’t hear the cadence of humour in his statement, nor does he see the creasing next to Louis’ eyes when he’s joking.

 

 _Christ, is he being serious?_ Harry tries to remain nonchalant as he clears his throat.

 

“You wanna go to my place?” _Just checking, because I don’t want to look like an excited puppy to bring you back to my room only to see you’re fucking with me. You’re not fucking with me right?_

 

“It’s closer.”  


Oh.

 

Except it’s not though. Harry doesn’t mention how Starbucks is actually the halfway point between both of their respective residences. Why would he, when Louis’ asking to come over and Harry’s desperate for his attention.

 

“Cool.”

 

* * * * *

 

“And this is my room.” Harry announces finally.

 

The house tour was not something he was planning on giving Louis, but after a few (failed) attempts to drag Louis out of the lounge, the kitchen, the fucking _loo_ , it seems like he has no choice. Reaching his door after fifteen minutes of Louis’ _ooh_ -ing and _ahh_ -ing at the interior design of the bathroom is a success.

 

“It’s nice.” Louis whispers, fingers brushing against the doorframe lightly as he walks into the white plush heaven that belongs to Harry Styles. The walls and bedding are white, in fact most of the furniture is white as well. The only thing disrupting the colour scheme are the black curtains drawn tight at the end of his room.

 

“You truly are a vampire. Don’t want the sunlight to ruin your pretty skin?” Louis questions, voice as octave higher than normal. His eyelashes sweep in his dramatic blinks and Harry hates the feeling he gets in his gut being around Louis. It’s a twisting, aching thing, the way he wants Louis pinned down beneath him.

 

“You’re the one with the pretty skin.” Harry rebuts, slinking closer to Louis’ side. His laugh cool against Louis’ neck as he dips down to whisper in his ear. “You think I’m pretty?”

 

“You’re the one who called me pretty yesterday.” Louis corrects, tilting his head to the side, exposing his neck further for Harry who grunts at the smell of him. The rush of blood underneath Louis’ skin is overwhelming and Harry reaches out a thumb to stroke the supple skin of his throat. Louis pulls away.

 

“Now Harold, what’d I say about touching?” Louis hums, peeling off his jacket and scarf before lying back on Harry’s bed. The neckline of his shirt droops lower, exposing his shoulder, and the hem rides up as he stretches his arms over his head. Harry gets increasingly more dizzy as his eyes trail down the curvy expanse of Louis’ torso.

 

“You love when I touch you.” Harry growls, voice teasing but laced with lust.

 

“Maybe, but that doesn’t mean you get to.” Louis hums, eyes fluttering shut.  


_Maybe._ Did Louis just admit to that? Harry’s surprised, probably more than he should be. People usually like him, it’s like standard daily procedure for Harry to get flirted with. Just. Not by Louis. Louis is not a normal person.

 

“So you like it?” Harry asks, needing the reassurance.

 

“You’ve got soft hands.” Louis practically whimpers, a giggle punctuates the sentence.

 

“Are you flirting with me?” Harry makes his way over to the bed where Louis’ sprawled himself out, allowing his skin to be exposed in ways that drive Harry wild. His fingers dip down to touch Louis’ hipbone, the skin there is soft and hot and Harry wants to taste it.

 

“I’d never!” Louis gasps, throwing a hand over his chest in faux abashedness.  

 

“You fucking would. Been teasing me all day.” Harry growls, lowering his face now to nip at Louis’ hip. The skin turns red underneath the bite, burning at the contact.

 

Louis manages to stand and pull away from Harry, pretending to leave.

 

“I have no idea what you’re on about.” He jokes, but the sound is distorted. Harry notices the blush spreading down his cheeks and flushing the nape of his neck.

 

“You absolutely fucking do.” Harry growls then, and in one fluid motion pins Louis against the wall. It’s a risk but _fuck_ if Louis isn’t genuinely the biggest tease he’s ever met.

 

Louis yelps as his back meets the wall, his pupils blown out and Harry can feel the heat radiating from him in waves. He’s hard. Harry can feel it pressing against where his thigh is pushed between Louis’ legs.

 

“What do you want, huh?” Harry hisses, his hands slinking down to grab Louis’ wrists and pin them above his head.

 

“H-Harry.” Louis’ exhale is ragged, eyes wide. His mouth is pink and gaping and Harry wants to fucking taste him. He’s a dickhead though so he doesn’t.

 

“You want me to fuck you?”  


Harry whispers low in Louis’ ear, pressing his thigh to Louis’ cock so he can rut against it freely. Harry relishes in the way Louis’ softly grinding against his leg, breathing laboured and his eyes locked on Harry’s.

 

Louis looks at Harry like he owns the stars in the sky. Harry looks at Louis like he _is_ the sky.

 

Louis moans and nods quickly, his motions jagged as he tries to slow the way he’s grinding against Harry’s leg like it’s the only thing he’s got.

 

“Could tell you want it,” Harry growls, lips pressing to Louis’ neck. The skin is hot and Harry’s tongue laps at the sweat forming there. “Been throwing yourself at me all day.” Harry murmurs, teeth scraping against the spot beneath Louis’ ear and he elicits the most beautiful moan.

 

“Haz, yeah,” Louis licks his lips. He’s panting now. “Want you.”

 

Harry’s busying himself sucking a bruise onto Louis’ neck, hands drifting down Louis’ sides, releasing his wrists. He moves to the front of Louis’ jeans, where he’s pressed against Harry, shamelessly rutting against him. Harry’s thumb strokes over the hard line of Louis’ cock in his jeans before making a grab at it, stroking him through the denim.

 

“You want it yeah? Acting like you’re too good for me. Too good for it.” Harry grumbles, hands burning from the friction over the material. “Like you’re not just begging to be filled up. Like you’re a good fucking boy.” His lips have made their way to Louis’ ear and they’re biting at his lobe, pulling the soft flesh between his teeth and swirling his tongue around the skin.

 

“Fuck Harry,” Louis’ sounds are all broken whimpers and gasps. His hands drop to Harry’s shoulders, fingers digging into the muscles at the top of his back. “Want it so bad.”  

 

“You’re not though are you? Been a bad boy? Making me fucking hard everywhere we go.”

 

“Jesus fuck.” Louis gasps out and his face flushes, like somehow in the last five minutes Harry’s gone from someone he’d never even think of being around to the hottest fucking thing he’s ever seen. His pupils are blown out and mouth dry from the ragged breaths he’s been taking, trying to survive when Harry’s trying to steal all the air in the room.

 

“Mhm, ‘m a bad boy.” Louis whimpers finally and Harry walks them backwards towards the bed. His lips and tongue are working on completely destroying Louis’ neck, littering it with red markings that will bloom into beautiful purple bruises tomorrow morning. When they reach the mattress Harry pins Louis underneath him. Hands roaming his body and tongue sliding slick against Louis’ hot skin.

 

“Harry?”  


“Mmm?”

 

“I––” The sound hitches in his throat when Harry gives a particularly hard suck at the underside of his jaw. “You don’t have your teeth out.”

 

“Makes it harder to eat you out if I’ve got ‘em out.”

 

For a split second there’s a silence that makes Harry think he’s got it all wrong. Then Louis lets out the most terrific moan, the unholy sound falls from his lips so loud Harry’s sure his housemates can hear. Good.

 

“F-Fuck what?” Louis whimpers.

 

“Want it? Want me to eat you out?” Harry says, voice gravelly and lips sliding down Louis’ neck.

 

He runs his hands over the sheer shirt cloaking Louis’ body. In one swift motion he tugs the thin material over Louis’ head and tosses it behind them. The body in front of him is gorgeous, the barest stretch of fat on his tummy but the rest is chiseled. Not too muscular, but just right. The light dusting of hair on his chest makes Harry’s mouth water and he presses kisses to the looping script of Louis’ tattoo. He makes a quick decision to take off his own shirt then, always getting a little warm when he gets turned on.

 

Louis nods repeatedly, a strangled noise escaping his lips. Harry almost doesn’t hear him squeal out the word yes, he’s too lost in running his tongue across one of Louis’ nipples. He hears it just in time to start trailing open mouthed kisses down Louis’ stomach. His tongue licks over the redness of Louis’ hip where he bit it before. Louis keens high in his throat from the touch against his tender skin.

 

“Please Harry.”

 

That’s all it takes for Harry to give into the burning in his chest and unbutton Louis’ jeans, sliding them down over Louis’ bum with difficulty. The fact they didn’t come right off is too fucking hot. Imagining Louis’ arse fully exposed is too fucking hot.

 

He finishes pulling off the rest of the material. Louis’ legs are lean and muscular, the tops of his thighs slightly fleshier and thicker than the rest. Harry leans in to sink his teeth into the soft flesh, the light hairs dampening and flattening out beneath his tongue.

 

He looks up to watch Louis biting down on his lower lip, wrist draped over his eyes, beads of sweat trickling down his collarbones. Harry wants to wreck him.

 

Harry’s thumbs reach up to drag across Louis’ nipples once, eliciting a soft moan in response. He likes Louis like this, in punch drunk submission. His pants are riding low on his hips, exposing the curve of his base and the trimmed brown hairs at his groin.

 

He’s straining against the thin fabric and Harry can feel the wetness before he sees it. A spot is soaking through the grey material, Harry presses a kiss to the area. Louis snaps his hips back at the contact. Harry lets out a low chuckle, coaxing Louis’ hips back up with open mouthed kisses. He pulls down Louis’ pants slowly, exposing his cock inch by inch. As enticing as it is, uncut and flushed at the head, the foreskin pushing down from just the sheer hardness of his cock, Harry doesn’t blow him.

 

Instead he dips his head down and with a gravelly voice commands Louis to turn around. Louis moves quickly, in a way that would probably be comedic if Harry didn’t see how much he needs this.

 

“Fuck, your arse is brilliant.” Harry breathes, not exactly to Louis, more so to himself. Because it is, brilliant that is.

 

Harry’s hands cup his cheeks, massaging the flesh slowly until Louis is groaning and grinding down against the bed. Harry presses soft kisses down each knob of Louis’ spine before sinking his teeth into the fullest part of Louis’ arse, gaining him a squeal. He drags his teeth across Louis’ bum to the other cheek.

 

If Harry is the poet Louis is the poem. Harry writes stories with his teeth against the meat of Louis’ arse as he bites down softly on the swell of his bum again. Louis moans this time.

 

“Please Harry.” Louis begs, “ _pleasepleaseplease_ ”.

 

And what kind of monster would Harry be if he denied this precious boy what he wants.

 

Harry’s painfully hard in his jeans and he gives a feeble roll of his hips, searching for friction in a  room that doesn’t want to give him any. He’s got two handfuls of Louis’ bum and he pulls apart the cheeks, settling between them. He’s immediately met with a small gasp from somewhere above him.

 

The first swipe of his tongue is slow, gentle, _wet_. Louis’ absolutely gagging. Whimpers falling out of his lips and muscles turning into gelatin underneath Harry’s tongue. Louis’ moans of encouragement and the wetness forming on his tongue go straight to his cock, like an electric current coursing through his veins.

 

Louis’ writhing against the sheets with every lap of Harry’s tongue. His hole flutters under the attention and puckers, wanting anything Harry is willing to give. Harry gives it a few more licks and waits for Louis’ sounds to become absolutely drenched with want. He’s gasping and stuttering out the word “fuck” with each swirl against the sensitive muscle.

 

Harry’s thumb runs over the rim of Louis’ hole, feeling the muscle pulsing beneath his finger. He takes this as an invitation, and slowly pushes his tongue in. Louis’ clenching down around his tongue in a way that makes it go a little numb, so he gives the boy a light spank meaning _relax_.

 

When Louis’ well adjusted to the feeling, Harry flattens his tongue and begins fucking into him at a slow and steady pace. Louis tastes sweet, whereas most people taste gritty and salty.

 

“Harry, Harry.” Louis sobs into the sheets, gripping handfuls of the fabric as he attempts to stifle the sound of his moans against Harry’s pillow.

 

“Yeah baby?” Harry asks, lips and tongue still connected to Louis skin.

 

“Wanna come.”

 

“Can you come like this?”

 

“I don’t… I don’t know.”

 

Harry dives back into his motions, licking faster now. Harry loves a challenge, especially one that involves making Louis come untouched. His tongue swipes downwards, licking at Louis’ perineum once before making his way upwards again to lick back into Louis’ bum.

 

Louis’ hands are searching for purchase on the sheets, and Harry ruts shamelessly against the bed, painfully turned on by the way Louis squirms against the sheets as he gets wetter and wetter.

 

“Gonna come.” Louis’ legs are shaking as Harry licks his rim, over and over again.

 

He comes with his fist in his mouth, and another hand reaching behind him, gripping onto Harry’s hair to anchor him.

 

Louis’ ragged breathing is starting to even out and Harry lazily swirls his tongue until Louis’ yanking at his hair, trying to bring him back up. Harry slinks up the bed, lying on his side to face Louis.

 

“Was that okay?” Harry asks finally, a buzzing feeling runs down his throat from his jaw. Part of him still in blissful disbelief that Louis just allowed that to happen.

 

“You just––” Louis starts before breaking off into a delayed moan. His head falls against the pillow and the incoherent sentences he forms are muffled by the cushion.

 

“Sorry, what?” Harry teases, biting his tongue as he lets out a chuckle.

 

Louis pops his head up, a few strands of fringe stick on the sweat of his forehead, his hair in general is just a trainwreck at the moment. He looks wrecked, wide eyes and mussed hair and he looks fucking gorgeous.

 

“Shit your _lips_.” Louis whines, running a thumb over the swollen reddened skin. “That looks so fucking hot.”

 

“So it’s safe to assume you liked that?” Harry laughs, nipping at the tip of Louis’ finger where it’s sitting on his mouth.  


“No one’s ever done that before,” Louis announces, shaking his head and raising his brows. “No boyfriend has felt comfortable with that, and you just did it. We haven’t known each other a week and you’re comfortable with your big head between me cheeks.”

 

“God I could tell you were a rimming virgin, you came in seconds babe.” Harry laughs, gaining a shove from Louis. Except this shove results in him on his back and Louis straddling him.

 

“Shut up.” Louis groans.

 

“Look so pretty when you come.” Harry eyes the drying come on Louis’ stomach and his semi leaning to the left as he sits on Harry’s lap.  

 

“Oh God, shut up H.”

 

_H, that’s new._

 

Louis latches onto his neck faster than he can even come up with a snarky response. The breath tears out of him as Louis’ fingers dance down Harry’s abdomen to finger the hem of his jeans.

 

“Off. Now.”

 

Harry never knew how easy it is to take off skinny jeans when a pretty boy is ordering you to. It’s very easy.

 

There’s a moment before Harry pulls his pants off when he remembers the unfortunate shaving incident just a few days ago. The hair on his groin is stubbly and he’s hesitant to remove the thin fabric protecting him from embarrassment.

 

 _Fuck it_ , he thinks, removing them in one swift motion. He hopes Louis won’t comment on his pubes (or lack thereof).

 

“What the fuck?”

 

He does.

 

“It was an _accident_ ,” Harry groans, “I was tired.”

 

Despite his initial response, the lack of hair on Harry’s groin doesn’t seem to affect Louis much.

 

Louis takes Harry into his hand without hesitation, thumb swiping across the precome beading at the head. It’s flushed a deep rose colour and Louis wets his lips before sliding Harry into his impossibly hot mouth.

 

Harry fights the urge to snap up his hips, fisting the sheets and throwing his head back at the hot wetness of Louis’ mouth.

 

“You’re fucking amazing.” Harry moans low in his throat.

 

Louis makes a humming sound as he leans back down, taking more of Harry into his mouth, sucking on the length of his cock. The heat of Louis’ hand scorches his prick, and Louis’ lips are getting slicker with saliva with each movement of his head.

 

“Gonna come baby, okay?” Harry groans and Louis makes a sound of acknowledgement. The sound vibrates against Harry’s cock.

 

Louis starts pumping him now, pulling him off fast and hard with his fist.

 

“Come for me, yeah?” He whispers, eyes shut and lips wet and moving against the head of Harry’s cock. He sucks the tip into his mouth and gives another stroke and that’s all it takes to get Harry crying out Louis’ name as he shoots hot into Louis’ mouth. His orgasm is electric, like a current of energy expelling itself through his body and he swears he sees white for a moment.

 

“Fuck, fuck. Louis.” Harry moans, his eyes squeezed shut. He reaches his hand out to cup Louis’ hollowed out cheek, still swallowing down every drop. His thumb presses against where Louis’ lips are open around him, and he cups the back of Louis’ head to help pull him off.

 

He hisses once sharply when the wind blows against the sensitive head of his cock.

 

Louis moves to lay back beside Harry. There’s a sliver of skin on both of their arms that’s touching and Harry feels the surge of heat flow between them.

 

“You’re warm.” Louis notifies Harry.

 

“Always get a little warm after I come.” Harry mumbles, eyes still squeezed shut. “How’d you get so good at that?” Harry groans because really, _wow_. He forces his eyelids open to look at Louis’ still flushed skin and spit slicked mouth.

 

“Come on Harry you know how one gets good at blowjobs, or anything really. A lot of practice and willpower.” Louis laughs, the motion makes his chest bounce and Harry can’t look away.

 

“You been with a lot of boys?” Harry hums, a smile dancing on his lips.

 

“Hey! Now why would you assume that? What if I’ve only been with one boy and just done it loads?” Louis remarks, he bumps Harry’s shoulder with his own, biting back a grin.

 

“That arse is too good for you to settle with one guy for too long.” Harry laughs, “Need to see who can treat it right.”

 

“Nice Styles.” Louis snorts.

 

“So?” Harry presses, pushing a finger into Louis’ side.

 

“So what?”

 

“So how many?”  


Louis looks completely astonished, “You really want to know me number? Right now? After I’ve just blown you?”

 

“Yeah.” Harry nods. Louis lets out a barking laugh. When he sees Harry’s face is still stark serious, eyebrows knit and lips pouting he takes a deep breath before speaking. “Ten.”

 

“And that’s like sex? Like full on dick in bum? Or just blowies?”  


“Oh my _God_ Styles.” Louis groans, throwing his head back. Although he tries to fake annoyance, the grin on his face gives him away.

 

The nickname sounds strange coming out of Louis’ mouth. Foreign. It leaves a bitter taste in Harry’s mouth. It makes Louis feel like another one night stand, another person who won’t stay, another person who just wants a shag and a poem and. It hurts is the thing.

 

“Since when do you call me Styles?” Harry grumbles.

 

“Since you started being a douche again?” Louis jokes, fingers reaching out to pinch at the soft flesh of Harry’s hip.

 

“I am not, nor have I ever been a douche to you.” Harry states. His brows furrow at the idea that Louis could ever think he was mean to him. Harry’s never mean to Louis. Never wants to be mean to Louis.

 

“Right no, you’re just a weirdo who stalks boys at parties where he sits by himself instead of attempting to socialise.” Louis laughs.

 

Harry’s not laughing. In fact, Harry remains dead silent, staring up at the ceiling. His gut is twisting and he clenches his jaw repeatedly in an attempt to ignore the stinging in his nose.

 

“Hey, H did I say something?” Louis’ not laughing anymore. His tone is rushed, concerned.

 

“No,” Harry says, too quickly. “No uh,” He clears his throat, “it’s fine. I’m fine yeah?”

 

“No, hey.” Louis sits up then, eyebrows knit in concern and his hand falls on Harry’s shoulder. Harry’s eyes watch the fingers curl around his shoulder. “No it’s not. You got all quiet. What is it?”

 

_Focus on Louis’ hand. Look at his tattoos. Don’t fucking look at him. Don’t memorise every inch of his skin. Look at the ceiling. Look at the walls. Look at anything but his pretty fucking face._

 

“Nothing.” Harry rasps out, voice thick and mouth hot. “Hey want me to blow you? Pay you back and all that?” His voice is quivering in his throat and he hates it. _Traitor_.

 

“I can see in your eyes you want nothing less than to blow me right now.” Louis attempts a smile but it’s lost on his face, too busy trying to grab Harry’s gaze.

 

“I’ll eat you out, yeah?” Harry’s speaking faster now, the words rush out of his mouth in a current of desperation. “I’ll make you feel good again Lou. I–I can do that. I promise okay? Did it before didn’t I?” He’s stammering out his words.

 

_Look at the ceiling. Look at the walls. Don’t feel his hand on you. Don’t look at his face. Don’t look him in the eyes. Just breathe. Breathe._

 

“Harry what’s wrong?” Louis’ voice is frantic, his eyes searching every inch of Harry’s face.

 

“Let me make you feel good, yeah?”

 

“Harry you’re crying.”

 

And he is. The levy breaks and Harry’s tears that were brimming against his lids streak down his face. He bites down on his inner cheek, trying to feel pain somewhere else besides the burning in his chest and the jab in his gut. His breathing is laboured, wheezing as he gasps for air. With that one motion the tears flow out heavier, hotter.

 

“Harryharryharry. Hazza what’s wrong?” Louis’ voice is fast and within a split second he’s wrapping Harry’s convulsing body in his arms. His palm is rubbing wide circles onto Harry’s back. The action is meant to be soothing but every swipe of his hand against Harry’s bare back feels like pinpricks.

 

“Just wanna be good for you.” Harry chokes out finally. The sob retching from his throat is violent, painful almost as he howls against curve of Louis’ neck.

 

“You are good, you’re a great lay. I mean… well… you made me come one way or another.” Louis corrects himself with a faint chuckle. Harry shakes his head desperately against Louis’ shoulder.

 

_Idiot. Stupid bloody idiot. You did it again. You fucking did it again._

 

“I’m not a bad person you know, I just…” Harry starts, words getting lost somewhere in Louis’ skin. His head is spinning and he squeezes his eyes shut, praying for the tears to stop. Has he mentioned God doesn’t listen to him?

 

“Hey. Hey I didn’t mean that. I was just taking the piss out of you yeah? You know you’re not a douche.” Louis’ response is quick, running his hands over Harry’s shoulder blades. His fingers press into the muscles between the bones, massaging little knots out of his back. “ _I_ know you’re not a douche.”

 

“I don’t want to hurt you.” Harry whispers. He’s not sure if he means for Louis to hear it.

 

“You’re not H.”

 

“I hurt everyone.” Harry sobs. “I don’t mean to you know? I just… do.”

 

“What d’you mean?” Louis mumbles, pressing his lips to the crown of Harry’s head. His curly hair is matted from the pillow and a thin sheen of sweat.

 

Harry takes a deep breath. _It’s now or never_. He pulls away from Louis, face wet and lips swollen from crying.

 

“I don’t know how or when it started… I just make people sad.” Harry starts with a shrug. He takes a shaky inhale before continuing. “Like, I think I just glom onto them and I like…” Harry stops to breathe and look up at the white ceiling. He blinks back the tears stinging at his eyes.

 

“I turn into this pile of ick. You can’t get it off and the more and more you try, it just spreads. Like a mosquito bite or summat.” Harry’s breathing is getting more ragged with each word and tears threaten to spill over his cheeks again. “I try really hard to be good to people, for people, just be what they want or need but… they say I make them sad.”

 

Louis pauses, nodding slowly like he’s trying to understand. Trying to _fathom_ what the hell Harry’s talking about. His hand reaches out for Harry’s shaking one. Usually Harry would jump at the opportunity to touch Louis, but this time he holds back. He pulls away from Louis’ attempt to lace their fingers together. Louis respects Harry’s choice and lets his hand fall to his side. He squeezes Harry’s knee instead. It means _I’m here._ Harry nods once, meaning _I know_.

 

“Who said you make them sad?” Louis whispers finally, breaking their silence.

 

“Liam.” Harry states without hesitation. The name stopped being associated with a stabbing pain in his gut a while ago. The memories however are still assisted by a pang in his chest whenever he recalls the way Liam pushed him away time after time.

 

“Niall says it all the time because I'm never up for going anywhere anymore and he has to stay at home with me. Half the frat doesn’t even know why Liam picked me nowadays, amazing keg skills aside,” Harry gives a weak smile. “I'm not the most fun at parties.”

 

“Everyone loves you though,” Louis’ brows furrow in confusion. “All those people at parties always buzzing about Harry Styles; the hot boy who writes poems that get published and drinks like a champ.” Louis squeezes Harry’s knee again, a soft smile flutters on his lips. “The one who wears the dumb, but cute snapbacks.”

 

Harry’s about to pass out. Can vampires pass out? He’s not sure if it’s from the lack of blood in his system or the way Louis’ looking at him like he’s a car crash. Tragic, and yet you can’t take your eyes off it.

 

“Yeah sure _they_ like me… they don’t know me.” Harry starts. “They see me and they see my frat, they see party Styles who knows how to hold his liquor and smooth talk and have one night stands and write poems about you the next morning and never see you again.” Harry’s voice is rising, getting heated. “Everyone just fucking wants their poem. That’s it you know? Like it’s a receipt, a proof of fucking Harry Styles. Or like… like it’s the bloody purchase itself and sleeping with me is the fucking payment.” His voice cracks at the idea. He’s a price. He’s the fucking price tag on his artwork. And he did it to himself.

 

“Like… like ‘I got a poem from Harry Styles and I just had to sleep with him to do so.’” Harry croaks, his voice breaking again. A lone tear streaks down his cheek, stopping at his chin. Harry watches the droplet fall onto his leg, pooling on his skin.

 

Louis’ silent. Unsure what to say. Harry doesn’t blame him. It’s not everyday he deals with trainwrecks with curly hair and stupid hats. With green eyes that look like emeralds but up close are like ivy. Beautiful but they just want to wrap around you and grow, suffocate you and invade into every space you have.

 

After a long pause Louis speaks again, voice weak. “You’re fun at parties though. We met at a party. We had fun.”

 

“I had to get you wasted for you to talk to me.” Harry deadpans. Louis opens his mouth as if to argue, but he knows Harry’s right. At least just a little bit.

 

“That’s not entirely true.” Louis whispers. Because even though it’s a little true, it’s not. Not completely. Louis made the first move, granted he was drunk but Harry didn’t _get_ him drunk.

 

“I'm morbid Lou.” Harry starts, chest swelling. “People don’t like morbid. They like morbid in small doses. In poetry and in people they can put in a box and talk to when they want to feel like there’s nothing good in life.” Harry inhales sharply and shakes his head. He looks down at his hands, shaking in his lap. “Then they want to forget that conversation ever happened and be happy. But it’s not that easy for me.”

 

Louis sits up straight and makes a grab for Harry’s face. The warmth of his palms surges through Harry. The feeling of Louis being there, listening to him and trying to help warms his insides. The feeling that Louis’ going to walk away and never speak to him again sends a chill through him though. The looming sense that Louis’ going to walk out is overwhelming, and it sends another wave of cold poison through Harry’s veins.

 

“You’re not morbid Harry.” Louis announces, forcing eye contact between them. “I’ve never seen anyone so hopeful or full of life before.”

 

He takes a breath and bites his lower lip. Harry’s too busy self loathing to think about how beautiful Louis looks like that. Concentrated.

 

“I think,” Louis begins. “I think you’re stuck on this old Harry. The Harry that didn’t have something great in his life and everything that seemed hopeful got taken away. And everyone tried to blame it on _that_ Harry and _that_ Harry now thinks everything is his fault always because people never want to take the blame.” Louis speaks like he’s sure. Harry wishes he knew what it felt like to be sure of something.

 

“But _Harry_ , not even just _that_ Harry but every version of you is just too nice, and you’ll take the blame for it all. But now you have something great and you’re not just going to ruin it by existing, do you understand?” Louis declares, like it’s a command, but a gentle command. His thumbs are wiping rogue tears from Harry’s cheeks.

 

Harry’s heart swells from Louis’ words. And maybe it’s true.

 

Maybe it’s true that there’s nothing wrong with caring about someone. Maybe it wasn’t his fault that Liam didn’t want him back. Maybe it was Liam’s fault for leading Harry on and keeping it going even though he knew it was hurting Harry. Maybe Liam liked to blame Harry for making him sad because he couldn’t accept responsibility for the fact that he made Harry sad. He made Harry sad a lot.

 

But.

 

“What do I have L?” Harry presses, voice gravelly and trembling with anger. “Name one thing I have that is great.”

 

“Me.”

 

All the wind knocks out of Harry at the word. One simple word. Harry has Louis.

 

Louis kisses the top of Harry’s head and mumbles into his hair. “You have me, and I’m not going anywhere.”

 

Harry has Louis and Louis is going to stay.

 

Harry’s glad he can cry because he wants to cry all over again at the declaration of friendship.

 

“I’m glad you answered my dumb text.” Harry mumbles into the crook of Louis’ neck as the smaller lad pulls him into a warm hug. Their skin is searing hot together.

 

“I’m glad you sent that dumb text.” Louis laughs back, his eyes getting swallowed up by the grin spreading across his face.

 

“You’re my best mate, you know that right?” Harry whispers against Louis’ collarbone, pressing kisses against the skin there. Harry feels Louis’ chuckle vibrating against his lips.

 

“Liam will be heartbroken.” Louis whispers, another chuckle leaving his lips.

 

“Mmm.” Harry hums, kissing up Louis’ collarbone to his neck. He lives for the way Louis’ breath hitches as he scrapes his teeth along the underside of Louis’ jaw. “Don’t talk about Liam when I’m still thinking of sucking you off.”

 

That’s how Louis ends up coming for a second time that night, hands gripping Harry’s hair like it’s the only thing keeping him from floating through the ceiling.

 

They fall asleep curled against one another, and Harry proves to be quite good at cuddling despite a lack of body heat.

 

* * * * *

 

**January 31st**

 

Harry wakes up with Louis’ lips pressing small kisses to his chest. He hums a happy sound and laces his fingers in the soft hairs at the back of Louis’ head.

 

“It’s your birthday tomorrow.” Louis announces, biting at Harry’s nipple lightly, gaining him a squeal from the younger lad.

 

“Happy birthday to the vampire.” Harry groans out, voice lower and raspier from sleep. He throws a tattooed arm over his eyes to block out any sunlight that has managed to slip through the curtains.

 

“Do you want anything?” Louis asks, rolling onto his back, his arm still pressing against Harry’s side.

 

“Your blood!” Harry drawls in a mock Dracula voice. He lets his fangs drop for the first time since yesterday and nuzzles his nose into Louis’ neck. He pretends to bite at Louis’ neck, making hissing sounds and licking at Louis’ skin.

 

“Get your Halloween store fangs away from me.” Louis guffaws, shoving Harry off of him. Harry feels warmth spread through his stomach as he realises Louis isn’t shaking in fear of his teeth despite the fact that his fangs scraped against the delicate skin of his neck.

 

“Hey I _earned_ these!” Harry retorts, shoving Louis back. The two lads are laughing maniacally on the bed, their heads rolled back and hands gripping at their sides. Nothing is funny yet everything seems simple, like it deserves a laugh with Louis around.

 

“Yeah by selling your soul.” Louis points out matter of factly after their laughter subsides.

 

“There was no exchange of soul. Just my heartbeat for a frat.” Harry says, reaching up to rake his hand through the matted down curls drooping on his forehead.

 

The words seem to ring oddly in the lighthearted air. Harry clenches his jaw as if he’s said something wrong.

 

“Why’d you do it?” Louis questions, his voice low like they’re exchanging secrets.

 

“Helps pay for uni.” Harry shrugs, like it’s no big deal that he gave up his mortality for money. It was a desperate move, although Harry doesn’t regret it.

 

“Don’t frats cost money?” Louis questions, sitting up in the bed and rubbing his eyes with the heels of his palms.

 

“Not Gamma. Free membership plus they pay your tuition.” Harry informs the boy as he sits up. His muscles ripple at the motion and he notices Louis looking out of the corner of his eye to watch them.

 

“Wow.” He remarks, probably at Harry’s statement and not at his muscles.

 

“Yeah I told you they’re exclusive.”

 

“So you gave up your life to pay for uni?”

 

“Isn’t that what most people do anyway?” Harry tries, he rubs the corner his eye with the tip of his index finger. “Spend their lives paying off school debt? At least I’ll always be young and I won’t spend my best years paying off uni. It’s like I'm always in my best years.”

 

Harry’s repeating what he’s told himself a hundred times a day since he’s turned. Honestly he wanted to grow old, wanted to watch himself age and die knowing he’s had a good life. When you’re immortal it seems like you get to put off doing well since you really honestly have all the time in the world to do good in life.

 

Louis takes a breath, trying to sort out his words. “Sometimes I think about turning, but I think it would hurt to watch everyone die.”

 

Harry feels a pang in his chest at Louis’ words. That’s the part about turning he doesn’t like to think about.

 

“Well I’d always be here.”

 

Harry almost misses the first tear rolling down Louis’ cheek, it’s quick and unexpected. He isn’t prepared for the tidal wave that comes after. Suddenly Louis’ just sobbing and Harry has no idea what on earth to do and what the hell is even happening.

 

“Lou? Lou what’s wrong?” Harry tries, reaching his hands out to grasp Louis’ biceps. They’re bare and Harry watches the goosebumps prickle on Louis’ skin as he touches the boy.

 

“I’m gonna die one day. I’m gonna die and you’re gonna watch me die.” Louis spits the word _die_ like it’s a bitter taste in his mouth. Harry doesn’t blame him.

 

Harry’s brain is failing him trying to figure out something comforting to say to the obviously unhappy boy next to him. He rubs the lads arms up and down gently, trying give him warmth, comfort, anything.

 

“Who knows L, what if you don’t want me around long enough for me to be there?” He means it as a joke, means for it to lighten the mood. But again Harry seems to say the wrong thing to Louis, setting him off further.

 

“God you’re the fucking worst you know?” Louis laughs humourlessly. “You don’t know how to help.” He bites, he sniffs wetly once and wipes his nose with the heel of his palm, it leaves a shining streak on his wrist.

 

“I’m just trying to be realistic Lou.” Harry shrugs. “What do I even mean to you? Someone who gets you off? Because last I recall you’ve acted completely disgusted by me up until I buried my face in your arse.” Harry barks because well… it’s true. Wow, he didn’t mean to be having the _what are we?_ talk so soon. He doesn’t mean for it to be that talk but… well… A little clarity wouldn’t hurt is all he’s saying.

 

“You’re me fucking _friend_ you idiot! And usually a good one at that! Except you’re not being a good one right now because I'm sitting here fearing me death and you’re telling me we’re not gonna be friends long enough for you to even be there for it.” Louis bites out, a sob caught in his throat. His hands shove Harry’s off his arms and he places a few half hearted slaps to his chest. He’s like a stroppy child, trying to start a row in a fit of anger.

 

Harry fights the small hands that hit him like a spray of bullets. He traps Louis in his arms, folding their bodies together in a hug so tight Louis can’t break away.

 

“Of course we’ll be friends if that’s what you want. As long as you want me to be your friend I will be. Promise Lou.” Harry mumbles, resting his chin over Louis’ shoulder. The smaller boy grips Harry’s back tight, nails clawing down the tawny skin between his shoulder blades.

 

“Just want you Hazza.” Louis whispers against Harry’s neck. The swipe of his tongue is unmistakeable and Harry doesn’t mean to get hard.

 

The next few sucks of his lips against Harry’s neck are definitely deliberate. Harry’s voice drops into a low moan at the way Louis’ teeth work at his neck, fighting to bruise him. Harry lets Louis take out the pain on him, lets Louis work out all his anger into attempting to give him love bites and long red marks trailing down his back.

 

“Bite me.”

 

The words make Harry freeze in his motions. His hands stutter on their path up Louis’ back.

 

“What?” He rasps out. His throat is closing up in a way that signifies hunger and the animalistic growl in the back of his throat is accidental.

 

“Not with your fangs you dingus.” Louis rolls his eyes, somehow still managing to be sassy whilst his cock is pressed flush against Harry’s abdomen, foreskin pushed down and leaking precome at the head. “Told you I like biting. The holes from your fangs would just freak me out a bit.”

 

“That’s all?” Harry remarks, a smirk tugging on the corner of his mouth. He wets his lips once and Louis’ eyes follow the motion. “Not the fact that I could turn you? Or suck you dry?”

 

“Harry, you suck me dry without drinking my blood regularly.” Louis laughs and that’s all it takes for Harry to retract his fangs and sink his normal teeth into Louis’ neck. The laugh morphs into a moan halfway through and Harry reaches down to palm Louis’ cock. The slip from the precome causes Louis’ breath to get wispy against Harry’s shoulder when he drops his head to lean against the lad.

 

Harry jerks him off for just a minute longer, until he’s breathing hot and heavy against Harry’s skin. Until he’s begging and his delicious moans turn absolutely sinful. Then he dips his head down, pushes Louis down to the bed with a flat palm, and sucks Louis’ head into his mouth.

 

Louis’ hands immediately fly out to grip the curls on the back of Harry’s head, his fingers tangling in the fluffy tendrils. Harry writes poems in his head about how Louis’ hands feel like felt tip pens scribbling nonsense onto his skull.

 

Harry’s tongue lathes across the vein on the underside of Louis’ cock. Louis humps upwards involuntarily into Harry’s mouth and mumbles an apology that gets broken with a heavy groan.

 

He comes quickly, biting down on his fingers to keep quiet and shooting hot strings of come into Harry’s mouth.

 

“Sorry that was so fast. Sorry I didn’t warn you.” He mumbles softly, the breathiness of his words makes them almost inaudible. Harry just licks his lips and presses a tender kiss to the small bruise blooming on Louis’ hip.

 

“S’okay baby.” Harry murmurs against the warm skin.

 

When Louis falls asleep curling his body around the taller lads, Harry’s brain repeats the phrase “ _just want you Hazza_ ” until he’s dizzy with it. He sees the letters sear themselves behind his eyelids and he dreams of a world where he can hold Louis’ hands as well as being able to pin them above his head.

 

It’s a nice thought.

 

* * * * *

 

Harry makes his way downstairs finally, leaving Louis to sleep in his bed upstairs and he’s met with all of his fraternity brothers sat around the kitchen table. He gives a wave of his hand on his way over to the refrigerator to grab a bottle of water for Louis.

 

“Someone looks happy.” Liam sings, poking a finger into Harry’s exposed side. They’re lucky Harry decided to put pants on at least.

 

“Yeah, finally.” Niall laughs and Harry tries not to get too bothered by it. He knows their comments are genuine and not meant to poke fun at his usual morbidness.

 

“I am happy.” Harry sighs, quirking up a smile at the four lads. Nick runs a hand through his sky high quiff and returns the smile. Ed holds up a pint of beer in acknowledgement.

 

“Reckon we should send Tomlinson a thank you card.” Liam announces which gains him a playful slap from Harry.

 

“Harry’s cock up his bum is probably ‘thank you’ enough.” Niall cackles and Harry blushes.

 

“Um, well…” Harry starts, his hand flying up to scratch at the back of his head.

 

“You haven’t shagged him?” Nick asks, brows knitted in confusion.

  
“Not like that, no.” Harry says, voice an octave too high. He tugs on the curly tendrils of hair at the nape of his neck. Is that weird? That they haven’t shagged?

 

“Did you bottom or summat?” Ed asks finally after a sip of beer. For the first time in a long time the smell of alcohol permeating in the air doesn’t appeal to Harry.

 

“Thought you only bottomed for Liam.” Niall ponders.

 

“Oi, watch it.” Liam smacks the back of the blond’s head.  

 

“No we just… like other stuff.” Harry bites his lower lip as he watches the exchange between the two. Niall’s trying to slap Liam and Liam keeps grabbing his wrists, his eyes locked on Harry.

 

“Like making out and blowjobs?” Ed chimes in.  
  
“Rimming too, don’t forget the rimming.” Nick sighs, as if even the mention of rimming gets him hot.

 

“All of the above… minus the making out.” Harry answers the rapidfire questions.

 

“Mate you ate his arse and you didn’t even have the decency to kiss him after?” Niall asks, hands pausing in their attempts to hit Liam.  


“Oi you don’t kiss someone after rimming them, you do it before.” Nick joins in the abuse of Niall and punches the blond’s sinewy arm.

 

“If you’re a good person you do both.” Niall chortles, his accent thick and comment causing everyone to laugh.

 

“I’m going back upstairs now.” Harry announces, shaking his head in endearment at the idiots he calls his friends.

 

On his way up the stairs he feels a hand trap his wrist. When he turns back to identify the owner of said hand he’s met with Liam’s warm brown eyes.

 

“Harry.” His voice is soft, eyes twinkling in the sunlight peering through the window.

 

“Li.” Harry replies. The overwhelming sense of calm being around his (second) best mate washes over him as it always does.

 

“I’m happy for you. You deserve this. Whatever it is.” Liam smiles up at the lad. Harry’s dead heart warms at the way his friend is grinning softly. Harry’s hand reaches out to cup Liam’s cheek, his thumb runs across his cheekbone.

 

“I know I do. He helped me realise that I do. Thanks Li.” His tone is soft and he beams softly down at the puppy-eyed lad. They let go of one another just like a hundred times before, this time doesn’t hurt though. This time Harry’s got someone in _his_ bed, and neither of them hurt.

 

* * * * *

 

Louis’ cuddling his chin into Harry’s oversized [ Packers pullover ](https://pbs.twimg.com/media/CBc59KLUkAAf_rV.jpg). They’re sat close again in the round booth of the Grease-like diner. Louis’ half asleep still and Harry’s shocked they even managed to walk to the slightly off campus eatery without him passing out on the street. Harry only had to carry him once, and only for ten minutes during the fifteen minute walk.

 

Harry takes off his Packers snapback and places it back onto his curls, chuckling to himself that they’re accidentally matching. Louis leans forward and pushes the sleeves of Harry’s [ blue plaid flannel ](https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/564x/09/54/ef/0954effe04e642f812d9985f24442fb0.jpg) up his forearms so he can kiss the “Things I Can’t” tattoo. Harry thinks it’s a little twisted. Louis’ something he can’t have fully. Their romance ends the second one of them comes. That’s the deal.

 

“Last time we were here you walked out on me.” Harry chuckles into the hood pulled up on Louis’ head. Louis kicks Harry’s Nike clad foot once.

 

“Last time we were here you called me annoying and said I’d die.” Louis retorts, sticking a finger underneath Harry’s ribs. He’s too tired to banter properly and he leans his head against the overstuffed pleather back of the booth.

 

His eyelashes are casting long spidery shadows down his cheekbones and his pink mouth looks soft and swollen with sleep. Harry feels a tugging in his gut knowing he’s tasted every part of Louis’ skin except the particularly pretty pink skin of his lips. Louis’ cheeks are lightly dusted with the hair of his beard and his cheekbones look extra pointy with the way he tilts his head back.

 

Harry thinks Louis’ probably the most beautiful person he’s ever seen.

 

“Can’t believe I’m gonna be nineteen even though it’s my birthday in twenty minutes.” Harry sighs, rubbing his left eye with the heel of his palm.

 

“I’m twenty two you know, I’m a grandpa compared to you lad.” Louis chuckles and sidles up closer to Harry, sensing the stress Harry’s emitting.

 

“I’m nineteen Louis. I’m gonna be nineteen forever.” Harry groans and drops his head to the table. He pushes his fists into his eyes until he sees splotches of light behind his lids.

 

“You lived another year. You’re twenty. You may look nineteen but you’re twenty.” Louis cuddles Harry in the tight space.

 

They chew on chips in comfortable silence for a while, occasionally trying (and failing) to throw them into each other’s mouths.

 

Louis’ falling asleep on his fist when his phone buzzes.

 

“Happy birthday Haz.” He mumbles into the air.

 

He set an alarm for Harry’s birthday. Harry could kiss him. Wants to kiss him. Instead he carries the unconscious boy back to the frat house.

 

Louis wakes up the second they get into Harry’s room specifically to blow Harry three times. Until he’s squirming and unable to breathe, straining from oversensitivity and exhaustion.

 

* * * * *

 

**February 1st**

 

Harry’s party is small, which he’s grateful for. He’s thankful the boys decided against inviting the entirety of their university to the gathering he hardly wants to have in the first place. The party consists of all the brothers, Zayn and Louis. Sophia, who clings onto Liam’s side the whole night, shoots Harry apologetic looks which he politely shoots down with a smile and a tight grip on Louis’ waist. Louis shoves his fingers off with giggles and runs off to raid the liquor cabinet with Zayn.

 

Harry’s heart hurts watching the boy pull bottles of vodka out of the cabinet like he’s trying to be sneaky although there’s already about twenty open bottles of liquor on the breakfast bar.

 

The party surges on, good music, good food, and even better friends make the night actually tolerable. Harry’s mum and sister call him some point around about ten at night, apologising for not having called sooner because of some issue with the cat.

 

“Is Dusty okay?” Harry asks, genuinely concerned and maybe a bit drunk.

 

“Harry you bugger, it’s your birthday and you’re worried about the sodding cat.” Gemma laughs, her voice ringing clear through the phone and Harry’s motionless heart aches. He misses her so much it hurts sometimes.

 

“Is he?”

 

They chat for an hour whilst the party rages on in the lounge. Harry takes up residence in his room, lying back on his bed, twirling his hair around his finger and running a hand up his bare torso. What? He got warm, okay? Plus it’s his birthday, he has every right to be in just his pants.

 

After they hang up Harry lies and stares at the ceiling for God knows how long until he hears a knock at his door.

 

“Come in.” He shouts over the dull sound of music pounding through his door. He’s surprised he even heard the rapping sound of knuckles hitting the wood.

 

It’s Louis. Not like Harry was expecting anyone else. He’s got something hidden behind his back and although he’s trying to be coy about it Harry groans and throws the backs of his hands over his eyes.

 

“Louuu.” He whines. “I said no presents.”

 

“I know but this is a small one.” Louis persists and pushes the plain white box over to Harry. His eyes watch Harry’s fingers graze the edges of the box before he pulls the lid off.

 

Staring back at him are train tickets to Cheshire.

 

“What?” The breath is knocked out of his chest, and his hands are shaking as he reaches down to touch the ink where it spells out _Holmes Chapel_.

 

“You said you miss home and you mentioned how expensive train tickets can be, so I took it upon meself to get you home for the weekend. It’s your birthday after all.” Louis’ red faced and bashful, kicking his shoe at nothing. Harry’s chest swells with passion and he rasps out a thank you before pulling Louis on top of him.

 

“Gonna fucking thank you proper.” Harry growls against Louis’ neck, kissing the skin vigorously, like it’s the last time he’ll ever get a taste of the salty flesh. The way Louis’ blood rushes underneath his skin reminds Harry that he hasn’t eaten in over fourty eight hours and it’s starting to get to him.

 

He makes a whining sound, keening high in his throat at the smell of Louis’ blood coursing beneath his tongue. Just a layer of skin away. _Stop_ , he begs himself.

 

“This is a bad idea Lou.” Harry mumbles, pulling away suddenly. He has to or else… or else he isn’t quite sure he’ll be able to control himself around the lad, writhing and moaning beneath him. The smell of his arousal is heavy in the air, and the scent of blood and pheromones is driving Harry wild.

 

“Hungry?” Louis whispers in his ear, too seductive for his own good. Harry groans and pins him down, hands trapping Louis’ wrists above his head.

 

“Bad idea Lou.” He repeats, voice raspier than ever as Louis lazily grinds up into his hips.

 

“Use me.” Louis whimpers and _Jesus_ Harry might be in love.

 

“What?” He asks, cock throbbing with heat and the glands beneath his jaw start tingling.

 

“You’re hungry yeah? Feed from me.” Louis mumbles against Harry’s neck, leaving stripes of wetness from his kitten licks.

 

And wow. _Wow_. Harry isn’t exactly sure what to say so he lays there on top of Louis, stunned in silence as the boy bites away at his neck, mewling in disappointment each time the bruises he tries to leave on Harry’s skin fade away immediately.

 

“You’re sure?” Harry says, voice low, attempting to be steady with the way he sounds when in actuality he wants nothing more than to sink his teeth in the boy and just indulge.

 

“Mhm.” Louis nods once. He pulls back from Harry and bares his throat, Harry stiffens in his pants.

 

“You’re not scared?”

 

“Not of you.” Louis murmurs, pressing his lips to Harry’s ear, giving the shell of it a quick swipe and biting down on the lobe. “Never scared of you.” He whispers directly in Harry’s ear.

 

The sound of Louis’ breath combined with his words send shivers down Harry’s spine. Louis bares his throat again and Harry pauses for a second, watching how Louis’ pulse starts quickening in pace. He’s nervous.

 

Harry presses a tender kiss to the area he’s going to bite. _Fuck_ he’s going to _bite_ Louis. He presses another kiss, and then another. Then ten more just to make Louis get lax and pliant underneath him.

 

He drops his fangs slowly, scraping the bone across Louis’ skin, feeling how he shudders at the sensation.

 

“Please baby.” Louis moans softly, skin prickling underneath Harry’s teeth. Harry swipes his tongue to settle the goosebumps. He presses one last kiss before sinking his teeth in.

 

It’s warm. Hot and warm flowing into Harry’s mouth and Louis lets out a moan beneath him. He may actually be perfect. He tastes salty, the iron strong and metallic on his tongue and he laps it all up, drinking with ease.

 

Louis’ writhing beneath him, hands holding Harry’s shoulders tight as a vice. About a minute in his grip loosens on Harry and he makes soft mewing sounds. Harry places his left hand beneath Louis’ jaw, tender, letting him know he’s there. That he still knows what’s happening. That he hasn’t lost it and that Louis’ going to be okay. Louis’ hand slinks up slowly to meet Harry’s. He holds Harry’s last two fingers and they stay there, poised on his jaw, Louis’ pulse fluttering against Harry’s hand.

 

His fangs feel full of the liquid, and it’s thicker than Synth. Definitely tastes better than Synth.

 

He’s almost scared he won’t stop.

 

Something in his brain clicks though. Like there’s a meter in his mind and once it hits the one pint line, he stops. He pulls out of Louis’ skin with a squishing sound that’s only a little disturbing. He’s quick to lap up the remaining blood on his neck and lick the wounds.

 

Louis sinks further into the sheets, mouth slack and making nearly inaudible sounds. Harry on the other hand is full of energy from just having eaten for the first time in days, from probably the best source to feed from.

 

“How was it?” He rasps, licking the sides of his mouth to get any remaining flecks of blood. His mouth still tastes salty and metallic.

 

“‘M tired. Horny, but tired.” Louis giggles, his head falling back onto the pillow, but he pries one eye open to look at Harry.

 

“I’ll take care of you Lou.” Harry whispers, leaning down to press a kiss to the already mostly healed bite wounds. Louis trembles at the touch of the sensitive skin but Harry’s too busy pinching one of his nipples underneath his shirt to care.

 

Louis breathes hot in Harry’s ear, murmuring incoherent phrases of encouragement. Harry drags his fingers down to the hem of Louis’ pants, peeking out from over his jeans.

 

He’s silent as he disrobes Louis, the smaller boy just making lewd noises at every touch of Harry’s skin. Louis’ impossibly hard when Harry finally gets his pants off as well as his own, Louis’ cock leaning against his hip and leaking onto the bruise Harry left him.

 

“You’ve got such a pretty cock.” Harry murmurs as he presses an open mouthed kiss to the dripping head. “So wet for me already.”

 

“You’ve got a pretty everything.” Louis mumbles and Harry’s positive he’s blushing even though vampires basically can’t blush. Louis makes Harry break the rules of vampire physics.

 

Harry dips his head lower, spreading Louis’ legs easily and giving a quick lick to his taint. Louis sobs from somewhere above him, his leg twitching out hilariously.

 

“Shhh.” Harry whispers against Louis’ inner thigh. He kisses up the soft skin to Louis’ groin and back down. Making patterns that get Louis dizzy. Louis’ begging for it, the word “ _please_ ” heavy with each exhale.

 

Harry slides back up Louis’ body to press wet kisses to his neck. His hand reaches down to pull at Louis’ cock from where it’s lying pressed against their stomachs, thick and leaving a trail of wetness on Harry’s fingers with every stroke.

 

The brush of skin between them is hot and their cocks line up, slick with one another's wetness and Harry could come just from the feeling of it. He’s not though. Because he promised to thank Louis properly and that involves a bit more dick in his bum.

 

When he decides Louis’ just about ready to lose it Harry shimmies down the bed, lips pressing hot kisses to every inch of skin on the way down. He pulls Louis’ legs apart and nestles his head between them, shifting until he’s found a comfortable position to reach Louis’ rim with his tongue.

 

The first lick is impossibly wet, warm and making Louis mew like a kitten. His tongue is fighting to get into Louis’ tight, wet heat. His thumb ghosts over the rim, the muscle flutters under the attention and he pushes just the tip of his finger in. And it’s fucking _warm_.

 

“You want fingers?” Harry rasps out finally. His tongue is swirling just around the opening.

 

“Want _you_.” Louis corrects, face silly with a grin but eyes burning bright with desire.

 

Harry’s hands blindly fly out to slap at the space beside them, his head still buried between Louis’ thighs. Harry’s hand is flailing until it hits the wood of the bedside table. His long fingers reach for the lube in the top drawer, he remembers to get a condom at the last second.

 

Harry slicks his fingers quickly, before Louis has a chance to whine about how he pulled away for even a second to open the plastic tube. He pushes a single digit into Louis and the slide is easy. Louis’ inhale is sharp, but he stays quiet. Harry makes sure he gets to feel every ridge as he opens up Louis.

 

“More.” Louis croaks out finally. _Has he been holding his breath this whole time?_

 

Harry spends a little more time opening up Louis with a single finger before pushing a second one in alongside it. This time Louis doesn’t stay quiet and his whimpers increase in volume as Harry’s fingers scissor inside of him, speeding up and making Louis twitch beneath him.

 

“You feel so fucking warm inside babe. So fucking hot.” Harry mutters, his lips pressing kisses to the area where his fingers spread Louis open.

 

The third finger is a little more difficult to get in and Harry is slow with it, taking his time to fill Louis with it. The boy snaps his hips up at the feeling and lets out a small yelp. Harry presses kisses to his hips and asks him if he should stop. Louis looks like he’s going to smack him for even asking such a stupid question.

 

“Want cock?” Harry asks and the question is genuine. Louis blinks at him and his mouth falls open as Harry crooks his fingers and rubs against his prostate, fingers dragging against the bundle of nerves.

 

“So bad baby.”

 

Harry’s painfully hard, and his neglected cock is turning purple at the head, swollen with blood. His fingers scissor into Louis just a few more times to be safe and he fumbles with the rubber, rushing to roll it onto himself. He squeezes a dollop of lube onto his hand and slicks himself up.

 

As he lines himself up to Louis he looks down at the boy. His heart would stop again if it could.

 

Louis’ looking up at him, eyes shining and lips pink and wide. His cheeks are flushed and hands fly up to Harry’s shoulders. He whispers the word “ _please_ ” and Harry is gone.

 

He lines himself up to Louis’ hole and pushes in, slowly. Frissons of pleasure run down his spine as he gives it to the boy inch by inch. The tightness is overwhelming and Harry can’t help but stutter out a swear as he fucks into Louis slowly but surely until he’s buried in the heat of him.

 

“Can I move?” Harry rasps out against Louis’ neck finally after allowing the smaller boy to adjust to the stretch. Louis nods, tangling his fingers in Harry’s hair.

 

Harry makes sure to touch Louis’ skin no matter what. His arms wrap around Louis’ shoulders as his hips grind down and he starts fucking Louis in slow drags.

 

“Feel so good.” Louis whimpers and blinks back the wetness forming on his lashes. Harry’s thumb brushes the corner of Louis’ mouth as his thrusts quicken in pace. Louis makes eye contact with him before sucking the thumb into his mouth gently.

 

“Jesus. So beautiful.” Harry groans out and maybe he didn’t mean to say that out loud.

 

He tries to ignore the fact that even though his motions are long, grinding, fast, hitting Louis’ prostate with each thrust, they’re too passionate. His touch to Louis’ cheek is too tender, the way he cradles Louis in his arms as he grinds into him is too sweet.

 

If he wasn’t moments away from coming he might actually care a bit more.

 

He can tell Louis’ even closer than he is after just a few minutes of skin sliding against skin. He wraps a hand around Louis’ length where it’s curving up against his abdomen.

 

“Come for me. Wanna see you come on my cock, okay?” Harry mumbles into Louis’ ear. After a quick succession of strokes and a soft kiss to Louis’ forehead the boy is spurting hot into Harry’s hand with a choked sob. Louis’ teeth sink into Harry’s shoulder and he suckles on the skin there, whimpers pressing into Harry’s sinewy arms.

 

The clenching of Louis’ hole as he comes is enough to push Harry over the edge. With a few quick jerky thrusts of his hips, fast and deep he spills into the condom.

 

They lay there for a while in the mess they’ve made in silence. All Harry can think about is that at some point his fucking Louis turned into something different. Something sweeter, more compassionate. And he’s bloody terrified of what that means.

 

* * * * *

 

The clock on Harry’s bedside reads 11:59 PM and he and Louis are lying on their backs, still shaking from their last round of lazily sloppy blowies. Louis turns to Harry, eyes half shut with a stupid grin plastered on his face.

 

“Still a minute left of your birthday. Any last minute wishes?” His speech is slurred, drunk on the afterglow.

 

Harry thinks. He wants to take his time and think but the sixty second countdown is ticking down in his head and he wouldn’t put it past Louis to genuinely not listen to any request he has the second the second the clock strikes twelve. He knows his Cinderella moment is running out and he isn’t ready to risk losing this chance. So.

 

“Can I kiss you?”

 

The silence is deafening and Harry is trembling. Louis blinks at him and Harry is gearing up to apologise when Louis just rolls his eyes and leans in close.

 

“You’re a fucking idiot.” He sighs and Harry can taste Louis’ sweet breath dancing on his upper lip. Harry leans their foreheads together.

 

Neither of them move. The clock reads midnight.

 

Louis’ lips move a fraction of a millimeter. Harry dips his head to meet the soft pinkness of Louis’ mouth. Their skin barely brushes and Harry feels the jolt of electricity run through him. Louis makes a sighing sound. A sound that sounds suspiciously like a _finally_.

 

Their lips slot together perfectly, and Harry pushes his lips into Louis’ just a bit more, trying to memorise this feeling. His tongue slips out to lick at Louis’ lower lip, asking for entrance. When Louis opens up Harry wastes no time deepening the kiss. Just a bit of course.

 

The slide of their tongues is positively blazing, burning the insides of Harry’s mouth. They groan into each other’s mouths in stuttered unison.

 

The soft sucking sound of new kisses fills the room and Harry feels a tightness in his chest. It just doesn’t hurt this time. It tingles almost, and it radiates through his body like rays of sunshine.

 

When they pull apart finally with one final soft press of lips, Louis’ mouth is wet and swollen. Harry can’t resist but nip at his lower lip. Just once.

 

“Hey,” Louis tone is hesitant as he elbows Harry. His face reddens slightly and Harry hums in acknowledgment. “I think I kind of like you.”

 

Harry’s pretty sure they played a trick on him when he turned and he’s secretly human because _this_ is what dying feels like. Harry has died once before and he’s positive his heart must secretly be beating inside of him because he thinks he can feel it stop the second the words leave Louis mouth.

 

Harry’s positively buzzing, his entire body a live wire at the words. He wants to say it back. Wants to say how much he likes Louis and he doesn’t know when it happened but it just did.

 

Instead he opens his mouth, quirks a brow, and says “You trying to date me Tomlinson?”

 

Louis opens his mouth in astonishment. He squints then and gives a quick chuckle. “Nah, I’d probably just die like you said.” He punches Harry’s ribs lightly, likely knowing Harry would trap his wrist in his grip because he melts into the touch.

 

“Oh shut up. Won’t let that happen. Never gonna let that happen.” Harry murmurs pulling Louis’ wrist up to his mouth and pressing quick chaste kisses to the thin almost transparent skin there. He traces the blue lines of Louis’ veins with his tongue.

 

“What are you gonna do, turn me?” Louis laughs. It’s a joke. But Harry, well…

 

“I mean, if you wanted to.” Harry mumbles, dropping Louis’ wrist back down to his side, slotting their hands together and interlacing their fingers. “Like one day, not now. Just… maybe one day if you wanted to.”

 

Harry’s thought about it is the thing. It comes to him in fleeting thoughts, what it’d be like for him and Louis to just be young forever. Together. He’s almost embarrassed at the joy he feels imagining Louis being by his side through everything. For more than just one night, for more than just quick shags and blowies.

 

“What do you mean one day?” Louis questions and Harry knows what he’s asking. He can see it in the way Louis’ eyes glimmer in the darkness.

 

“I mean,” Harry drawls and dips his head low to press a soft kiss to Louis’ nose. “I kind of like you too.” He leans lower, pressing a tender kiss to Louis’ lips. “Like a lot.”

 

Louis lets out a laugh too loud for their current situation. “I knew it! You are trying to date me! It’s been your plan all along!” He chuckles, slapping at Harry’s chest, effectively getting himself wrapped up in the hug he was searching for with the assault.

 

“Of course I am you twit. I’d be crazy not to.” Harry grumbles, pressing ridiculously wet kisses to Louis’ neck just to make the squirmy blue eyed boy laugh. It’s a tinkling sound and Harry thinks he would like to wake up to that everyday.

 

“Yeah well, I’m trying to date you too.” Louis whispers as if it’s some big secret that he has a crush on Harry. It’s the most endearing thing Harry’s ever seen and this time he doesn’t deny himself the opportunity to feel endeared by this squirmy idiot in his arms.

 

It feels like a breath of fresh air being around Louis.

 

“I’ll still be a terrible bedmate though,” Harry says, pressing soft kisses down Louis’ jaw. “You’ll get so cold.”

 

“Nothing makes me warmer than you,” Louis says in a voice that’s too genuine, too sweet for the corny, saccharine comment. “My stupid vampire boyfriend.”

 

No one has ever wanted Harry for anything more than just a shag and a poem in a long time. As they fall back into the sheets, mouths warm and pressing tender kisses to one another, Harry thinks maybe this time it’s okay to want someone as bad as he wants Louis because he knows Louis truly wants him too.

 

And that’s the best feeling he’s had in a long time. He could get used to this.

  
  
  
  
  



	2. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just Harry's Granta poem

When Louis mentions he still hasn’t read Harry’s poem that he submitted to Granta that’s when Harry realises he hasn’t either, and it got accepted a week ago.

 

* * * * *

 

_ I said I’d write about the blue of your eyes the first time I saw you _

_ I guess this is it _

_ I’ve been writing about your eyes since the first day _

_ I said I’d drown in them and _

_ I guess I did _

_ They washed away all I knew _

_ Everything I’ve ever known _

_ In a riptide _

_ Blue used to mean choking _

_ Blue meant I couldn’t breathe _

_ I used to make people blue _

_ I’d never met a blue I liked _

_ Until I met you _

_ Then I said I’d write a poem about the blue of your eyes _

_ And I wouldn’t call it The Morning After _

_ I call it “One Day” _

_ Because One Day I will be yours _

_ and maybe being blue won’t seem so bad to me after that _

 

**Author's Note:**

> Reblog the tumblr post [ here](http://myhaz.tumblr.com/post/139758537935/title-i-will-never-rust-author-yslkale)


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